One Man's Journey
by ForsakenFerret
Summary: A man who has forgotten everything he was is thrust into a journey he didn't choose for a man he didn't know. As he struggles through trial after trial, he ponders what his actions mean to the world. Feel free to comment.
1. Aided Escape

A form sat huddled in the corner of a small cell. It rocked slowly back and forth, light from the hole in the ceiling glinting occasionally from the pendant clutched in its hand. The man sat up suddenly, bringing the pendant toward his face and staring intently at it for a while.

He had lost track of how long he'd been held in captivity. Years? Centuries? It all seemed the same to him. Time flowed around him like a river, and he was stranded on an island in the center. Death would never come for him. Death was only ever a temporary respite. That's why he had been brought here. They couldn't kill him, so they had detained him.

He failed to feel any emotion when he recalled his final moments of freedom any longer. He remembered nothing of his life when he'd been alive, but he had come back to life with the same pendant he now clutched tightly. It comforted him to know that it had held great significance to him in life, though he couldn't remember it, else why would it have returned with his tortured soul? He recalled only dying, his soul preparing to depart to another plane when he felt himself pulled back, something within his soul refusing to let him find peace in death. The next thing he knew he was sitting next to a freshly dug grave. He didn't look at the name, he didn't need to. The darksign on his flesh told him everything. He needed to leave while it was dark. It wasn't long before he ran into a person out for an evening stroll.

They glanced in his direction before shouting for the guard. He tried to flee, but to no avail. He was cornered and bound. He was helpless to prevent being bagged and transported, the guard having received orders on how to deal with the undead, to the prison in the north. Originally guards had patrolled the halls, keeping the other undead in check, but that was long ago. Long had it been since he had heard sounds other than the shrieking wind and howls of the undead who had long since hollowed. The only thing that had kept his mind intact was the pendant. It gave him something to focus on other than the absolute solitude.

Lost amidst his thoughts he was slow to notice the figure hovering above him, looking down at him through the hole in his cell. He shrank back instinctively, keeping a wary eye on the intruder. A knight by the looks of it, as his ornate armor and shield would attest. The knight lingered a moment longer before disappearing from sight. The man sat pressed against the wall, still keeping a watchful eye skyward. A heartbeat later a corpse was rolled through the hole, falling to the ground with a dull thud. A few of the hollowed undead moaned in protest of the unwelcome noise, but quickly quieted to their usual muted groaning. The man caught sight of the knight peering in a final time before heading out of sight.

The man stared at his new cellmate, evidently not undead, for a long while. Eventually he worked up the courage to stand and examine the corpse. The corpse was outfitted with a worn suit of chainmail armor, complete with a helmet that hid its face. A key was tied to his belt. The man cautiously reached out and prodded the corpse. When it didn't react, he proceeded to strip the armor off the corpse and don it himself. His own clothes had deteriorated to a sorry state, and it was refreshing to don new armor. The armor was a bit tight, but nonetheless easy to move in. The man removed the key from the belt of the armor and examined it. It seemed to be old, almost as old as the prison. He moved toward the door of his cell, wondering if it what he thought was even possible.

It had been many a moon since he had looked around his cell, or even contemplated escape, but here he stood at his cell door. Angling his neck so as to see the front of his door, he noticed a keyhole. Looking back to the key in his hand, it seemed as though it might fit. Moving closer to the lock he slipped his emaciated arm through the bars, slipping the key into the lock. He had difficulty turning the key in the aged lock, but indeed it did turn. Trepidation filled the man as he put his hands on the door, a voice in his head pleaded with him to sit back down and embrace the solitude of the cell. There was no telling what waited for him on the other side of the door. Better to stay here where he was safe.

The man brushed the thought away. Determination flowed through him as he pressed his shoulder against the rusted metal and shoved. With an angry screech, the metal scraped across the weathered stone and opened. The man stared down the tunnel, torches enchanted to never burn out casting dim light upon the walls. The man strode forward, eager to face whatever lay ahead.


	2. Meeting the Warden

The undead scanned the hallway, noting in the torchlight a few other undead roaming the halls. Many of the cells had been broken open in some way or another, not that escaping the cells was much more freedom than being confined. He also remained acutely aware of the heavy breathing coming from the interior of the large cell on the right side of the hallway. He picked up a sword from the ground. The blade was broken off not more than a foot from the hilt. He swung it a few times, sighing as he did so. It was better than nothing, if not by much.

Holding his new weapon in both hands the undead continued on. Not far along he came upon a hollow sitting against the wall, slowly knocking its head against the stone surface. When he came near it stopped and stared at him for a moment with glazed eyes, before seemingly losing interest and returning to its mindless task. He wondered at the docility of the hollow, had it just lost the will to live? Closer now to the larger cell, he managed to peer inside and caught sight of a monstrous, grotesque thing trapped inside. The beast wielded a hammer at least twice the size of the undead with ease. Its breath came in ragged gasps as it paced back and forth within its prison. The undead continued ahead with care not to make too much noise, he didn't want to alert that thing to his presence. He had little doubt that it could break through those walls if properly persuaded.

The hallway ended at a small pool, with another hall leading to the right. Daylight streamed down the tunnel, a good sign. As the undead took a step toward it he was startled by a movement in the pool. Another hollow stood up from the shallow water with a sword, similarly broken, in its hand. With a shout the hollow leapt at him. The suddenness of the attack, combined with his lengthy captivity, left him slow to defend himself. The hollow caught him with the jagged tip of the blade across his side. The pain barely registered to his undead body, but thickened blood dripped from the wound. The undead lashed out with his own blade, catching the lethargic hollow in the side of the head. The hollow fell heavily, ceasing the all too common ragged breathing that many hollow exhibited.

The undead tensed as he felt a rush of power within himself. All the souls that the hollow had gathered were now his own. He vaguely remembered hearing the knights who had brought him here talking about how the undead had the ability to use the souls of others and add their strength to their own. It had confused him at the time, but now that he had experienced it firsthand, he found that it came instinctually.

With a heightened alertness, the undead pressed on. The tunnel was short, leading to a ladder where the light streamed from the top. Feeding the broken blade carefully through his belt, the undead mounted the ladder and climbed toward the light. As he neared the top he had to stop a moment and shield his eyes. Though it was cloudy out, the sunlight was enough to blind him for a short time. The relatively small amount of light that had filtered through the hole in his ceiling was nothing compared to this. When his eyes had adjusted properly he continued up the ladder and proceeded into a small courtyard. A huge set of doors dominated the scene, with a smaller gate to his left. The gate was barred from the other side unfortunately, leaving his only way forward through the massive gates.

Something in the middle of the courtyard caught his attention. It appeared to be a sword jammed into the ground. The undead walked up to the strange sword, and reached a hand toward it. He felt an immense warmth encompass him, and suddenly a flame sprang to life where the blade touched the ground. It didn't burn the surroundings, but gave off plenty of heat. Almost like a bonfire. The undead sat down next to the flame, oddly comforted by the unnatural blaze. He looked down at his side only to see that the wound had healed. He ran a hand over the place where the wound had been absentmindedly. Staring into the flame, he noted that he felt a certain kinship with it. He felt as though it were an extended part of himself. He somehow knew that he had used a spark from his own soul to bring it life, though he didn't know how he'd done it.

The undead rose, seeing no sense in dwelling on the flame. His destiny lay beyond the doors ahead of him. As he walked up to the doors, he couldn't help being intimidated by their size. They stood nearly three times his height, and were about as wide as he was tall. The undead set his shoulder against the door and pushed with all the strength he could muster. With a loud grinding protest, the door moved ever so slowly inward. Time and the elements had worn the great hinges, increasing the difficulty of his task. It took him nearly half a minute to push the door enough to get through easily. The undead stood for a moment, catching his breath. Once recovered, he continued past the doors. The room was quite large. Two sets of three pillars on either side of the open area in the middle. The floor seemed weathered, no surprise in this place, and there was another set of immense doors across the way. Even from where he stood he could see the large keyhole on the other set of doors. He hoped it wasn't locked, as he'd seen at least two collapsed staircases on his way here and it would be a shame if he'd traded his tiny cell for a larger one. He continued walking toward the door, hoping it wasn't locked, when he noticed a shadow on the ground. Looking up he was shocked to see a monster falling from the roof.

The beast hit the ground, causing it to quake and crack. It looked much like the one he'd seen earlier, but this one was smaller. It still towered over him and wielded an almost identical hammer. The beast hefted the hammer, bringing it down toward the undead. Drawing his improvised weapon, the undead rolled to the side just in time to dodge the massive weapon. When the hammer hit, it sent a tremor through his entire body. Regaining his composure, the undead rushed toward the demon. With a valiant effort, he launched himself toward the demon and brought the blade down toward the bulk of its thigh. The dull blade barely scratched the creature, but the roar of the demon indicated the rage it had caused. The demon fluttered its relatively small wings, managing to lift its massive bulk off the ground slightly. It hovered above the undead for a moment before crashing down again. The undead dodged the demon itself, but the ground shook again causing him to lose his footing. Before he could get back to his feet, the demon swept the hammer in front of itself. The blow caught the undead heavily in the side, sending him tumbling. The undead pushed himself up, spitting blood. He needed to get out of here. Scanning the room he spotted a small door, it would be hard for the demon to give chase past it. As he was about to make a dash for the door, the demon brought the hammer crashing down upon his leg. Though the pain was dulled, the limb was mangled. Gritting his teeth, the undead forced himself to run. The demon roared indignantly bringing the hammer crashing down dangerously close to him, but he managed to leap through the door. As the demon gave chase, a gate slammed down covering his escape.

The demon bellowed defiantly, slamming into the wall and causing dust and masonry to fall. Its tantrum, thankfully, did not last long and the undead breathed a sigh of relief. He noted another of the strange swords near him and limped over to it. He lit the bonfire and sat wearily, allowing the comforting flames to heal his wounds. He sighed as he looked ahead, another tunnel. He sincerely hoped there weren't more surprises like the demon lying in store for him ahead.


	3. Waylaying the Warden

Standing from the bonfire, the undead headed cautiously toward the corridor. Coming up to the door, the undead peered out into the corridor. Another ruined cellblock, by the looks of it. Something immediately caught his attention, something lying on the ground. A corpse, not dead long by the looks of it, with a shield still clutched in its hand. There was another body further up the path, and beyond that… His thoughts were cut short by the arrow that sprouted from his chest. Falling back behind the wall, he pulled the arrow from his chest with a grunt. He cursed his carelessness before taking a quick look further up the path.

Sure enough, a hollow stood at the end of the hall, nocking another arrow awkwardly into his bow. He ducked back behind the wall. Where a hollow found a working bow, or how it had the intelligence to use such a thing in this place was beyond him. He stood back in the doorway, drawing the simple hollow into firing another arrow at him, which he easily sidestepped. Sprinting forward, he ducked into the safety of a cell whose door had come off. An arrow clattered against the masonry outside, then silence. The undead quickly dashed outside, grabbing the shield from the body, avoiding another arrow, and hurrying back into the cell before the undead could loose another shaft.

The shield was in great condition, seemingly a standard issue heater shield. The undead slipped it onto his arm, and once more left the safety of his cell. The hollow fired another arrow at him, which he easily deflected with the shield. With a newfound sense of power the undead charged forward, shield held high. The hollow began nocking another arrow, but thought better of it halfway through and retreated to a door to its right. The undead halted, refraining from giving chase in favor of searching the other body in the corridor. He was glad for his discretion, as the body had an unmarred longsword belted to its hip. The undead removed the weapon from the body, wondering to himself what fresh corpses were doing in the asylum. Belting the sword to his own hip, he discarded the broken sword he'd been using up until that point and drew the sword from its scabbard. The blade had a good weight, and a sharp edge, infinitely better than the rusted hilt he'd been making due with.

Looking down at himself, he couldn't help but smile. Full set of armor, a fine weapon and shield, he looked the picture of a knight. He continued forward, intent of testing his new weapon upon the archer who'd given him such grief. Reaching the end of the hall, he did indeed see the archer waiting halfway down the newest hall, but was more surprised to see the white wall of fog which covered the doorway at the end of the hallway. Shaking the surprise, the undead raised his shield and rushed toward the archer. The hollow fired one arrow, but had no chance to grab another. The undead was upon him, lashing out with the shield. The hollow fell to the floor, where the undead made short work of stabbing his blade through its chest.

Drawing the blade back out, he sheathed it and stepped toward the mysterious fog. He sensed no wrongness from it, though it completely obscured his vision. He reached forward slowly, wary of any sudden change. The moment his hand touched the fog, it quickly dissipated. He jumped back and drew his sword, fearing he had broken some seal, yet nothing happened. Keeping his blade in hand, he moved ahead. The first thing he noted was a body in the cell in front of him. It looked to be the selfsame knight who had enabled his escape. As far as he could tell, there was no way to get into the cell, the door having become embedded in the ground at some point in the past. Walking up to the cell, he noted a hole in the ceiling, the only discernable entrance. The knight was breathing weakly, his armor heavily damaged and blood flowing from a few of the gaps in his armor. "I can't…believe…that this is how it…ends…" He heard him whisper.

Seeing no way to help the knight, the undead turned from the grim scene. The path split ahead, although he could see the leftmost way led to yet another broken staircase. The right however led to a traversable staircase. Heading to the right he saw that there was both a stairway up, as well as one down. He had noted that he was above the courtyard he had emerged in after climbing the ladder outside of his cell, so he could only figure that the stairway going down led to the door that had been barred from the other side. He started up the staircase, but noticed too late the hollow at the top. It had somehow managed to roll a gargantuan iron ball to the top of the staircase, and pushed it toward him. He had only a moment to react and used it to throw himself off the stairway, into the open space above the downward stairway. He landed heavily upon the stairway, and picked himself up slowly. The hollow hadn't given chase, and remained at the top of the stairway. He had heard a loud crash as the ball broke through the wall of the cell imprisoning the knight.

The undead hurried back up the staircase, hoping to reach the knight before he died. The hole in the wall was easily big enough for him to get through. The knight sat alert, but it was clear his wounds would be fatal and he was in no condition to fight. The knight seemed to tense for a moment, but relaxed when the undead didn't attack him straightaway. "…Oh you…You're no hollow, eh?...Thank goodness…" He said, slumping back against the wall.

The undead walked up to him, sheathing his sword and keeping an ear open for the footsteps of meddlesome hollows. "…I'm done for, I'm afraid… I'll die soon, then lose my sanity…" The knight continued, staring out of the cell. He seemed to lose focus after that.

The undead waited for him to speak again, not wanting to interrupt. The knight looked back to him, his gaze unusually intense, as though he were studying him. "…I wish to ask something of you… You and I, we're both undead… Hear me out, will you?" He finally asked.

The undead nodded, wishing to honor the final wish of the one who had allowed him this attempt at escape.

"…Regrettably, I have failed in my mission… But perhaps you can keep the torch lit…" He said hopefully. "…There is an old saying in my family… Thou who art undead, art chosen… In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords…" He continued, making a valiant effort to stifle the pain of his injuries to get his point across.

The undead sat listening intently, to both the knight's story and for the footsteps of any hollow that might sneak up on them. "… When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the undead thou shalt know…" The knight continued, a note of finality in his voice. "… Well, now you know… And I can die with hope in my heart…" With that, he laid back, his breathing becoming shallower. The undead stood up, going over the knight's words in his head. He turned to leave, but as he was about to move toward the broken wall he was stopped by the knight.

"… Oh, one more thing… Here, take this." He said, reaching into a pouch at his side. He pulled out a small vial, filled with what appeared to be the same flames that formed the bonfires. "… An Estus Flask, an undead favourite." He handed to flask to the undead. "… Oh, and this…" He said, producing a key, which the undead also took. The knight laid back, he coughed and blood spattered his visor.

"… Now I must bid farewell…I would hate to harm you after death… So, go now… And thank you…" The undead backed away from the dying knight, heading back out the broken wall. He thought of what the knight had told him. Make pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords… Part of him wanted to ignore the request, to just escape the asylum and carry on with whatever was left of his life. He shook his head, denying the idea. He owed this knight his very freedom. The least he could do was carry out his dying wish. So it was that the pilgrimage became his own, and he would see it through to the end…or hollow trying.

The Pilgrim headed back to the staircase. The hollow still stood at the top of the stair, glaring at him with burning eyes. Drawing his sword, The Pilgrim charged up the staircase. The hollow attempted to hit him with its own rusted sword, but The Pilgrim parried the attack with his shield. With a single powerful stroke, the hollow fell lifeless to the floor. Shortly past it, there was another gate. The pilgrim walked up to it, and found it to be locked. Retrieving the key that he had been given, he tested it in the lock to find that it indeed turned. Swinging the door open, he stepped outside. He looked up into the cloudy sky, still taken aback by the wide open space after so long in confinement. He strode forward, hearing the rasping breathing of hollows around the corner.

Keeping close to the wall, he peered carefully around the corner. Three hollows milled about in the center of the walkway. Two wielding swords, and one with a bow. The Pilgrim bolted from the corner, charging into one of the sword wielding hollows and knocking it to the ground, seeing another doorway covered in fog as he did. The other hollows drew in to attack, but The Pilgrim was ready. Deflecting the weapon with his shield, he sliced into the hollow's sword arm causing it to drop its sword. Ducking an arrow, he turned and stabbed the floored hollow. When he turned back to the hollow in front of him, he realized he had been too slow. The hollow struck him in the head with both fists, knocking him down. The Pilgrim stood quickly, the attack lacking strength due to the hollow's poor physical state. With a flick of the blade, he slew the hollow. Turning his attention toward the bow wielding hollow, he was late to dodge the arrow it had fired. The arrow took The Pilgrim in the leg, but he ignored it as he rushed the archer. It attempted to block his attack with its bow, but The Pilgrim sliced clean through the already damaged bow. A second swing ended the hollow's resistance for good.

He knelt down to pull the arrow out, looking toward the fog. Taking stock of the area he decided that the fog would lead to a balcony in the room where the demon had attacked him. The creature's wings had been too small to allow it to properly fly, and he hadn't felt the building shake, so he had to assume it hadn't broken through any walls. That meant it would be waiting somewhere on the other side.

Safe for the moment The Pilgrim sheathed his sword and pulled the "estus flask" out of his pack. He examined the flask for a moment. The flames inside didn't flow like a liquid, they simply burned with their unnatural light. He knew the bonfires healed his wounds, as he was sure they did for all undead, so he assumed the flask would do the same. He removed the cork from the bottle, expecting the flames to shoot from the mouth, but there was no change. He wondered how he was supposed to use the flames. He wondered if he was to pour it on his body? In the end he figured it was called a flask for a reason and put it to his lips. Tipping the bottle up, he wasn't surprised to find the fire didn't flow from the bottle. Instead he put his mouth around the rim and took a deep breath. The flames shot down his throat and into his lungs, filling him with the same warmth the bonfires did. The effect wasn't as strong and lasted only a moment, but he could feel his wounds healing. He was pleased to see that his use of the bottle hadn't depleted all of the flame, there was still enough in it for a few more uses. The Pilgrim silently thanked the knight for such a precious gift.

Feeling reenergized, The Pilgrim drew his blade and stepped toward fog. Reaching out toward it, the gate dissipated. Stepping onto the small platform on the other side, he was a bit taken aback to find the demon staring right at him. The demon roared at him, readying its hammer, but The Pilgrim wasn't backing down. Instead he launched himself from the balcony, driving his blade into the demon's head, just below its eye. The roar turned into a wail as the demon flailed about, trying to dislodge The Pilgrim. The Pilgrim clung tightly to his blade, not about to lose his only weapon. When the demon stopped shaking for a moment, The Pilgrim dislodged his blade and leapt down to the floor.

The demon continually shook its head, as if trying to shake off the wound. The Pilgrim steeled himself, knowing an arduous battle lay ahead. The demon swung its hammer, but its aim was off. The Pilgrim dodged the attack with ease, realizing his attack had damaged the demon's eye, leaving it with a large blind spot that he could take advantage of. Closing the distance, effectively preventing the use of the hammer, The Pilgrim sliced at the demon's flank. The attack barely phased the demon, but The Pilgrim knew it wouldn't be able to withstand multiple attacks to its legs and stay standing. The demon attempted to leap into the air a bit and crush him, but The Pilgrim was able to avoid him, using the opportunity to slash at the demon's leg again. The demon turned, smashing the hilt of the hammer down, nearly crushing The Pilgrim. The Pilgrim fled backward, realizing he had been pinned by the wall. The demon advanced, swinging the hammer as it did so. The Pilgrim's right was blocked by a pillar, so he rolled to the left to avoid the attack. No longer in the demon's blind spot, the demon followed with a sweeping swing that caught The Pilgrim heavily in the side.

The Pilgrim bounced across the floor heavily. His armor had protected him slightly, but another attack like that would be fatal and he was in no condition to fight. Thinking quickly, The Pilgrim pulled the flask out of his pouch again and took a revitalizing breath of estus. A precious gift, indeed. Replacing the flask, he rolled to the right as the demon attacked again. The demon stood near the center of the room, and The Pilgrim realized that this would be his best opportunity for attack. He ran to the right, and the demon was slow to turn. Plunging his blade into its leg, he twisted with all his strength and withdrew his weapon. The roar of pain that followed told him he was successful, the demon's weight sagged right for a moment before it regained its balance. It attempted to smash the undead with its hand, but The Pilgrim moved out of its reach. The two stood staring at each other, the demon's baleful glare almost toxic. The Pilgrim circled around to the right, where he knew the demon couldn't see, but the demon made no attempt to go after him. Instead it lashed out with the hammer, which the undead managed to avoid by backstepping. As soon as the demon had pulled his hammer back, he attacked again. The Pilgrim avoided this attack as well, but only just. Moving further right, the demon turned slowly, continuing its unrelenting attack.

The Pilgrim knew the demon couldn't see him, but the ferocity and blind fury of its attacks weren't leaving an opportunity to attack either. A thought occurred to him, perhaps a bit insane, but nonetheless the only idea he had. The demon lashed out again with the hammer, to the right where it couldn't see. The Pilgrim watched the deadly mass come toward him and leapt back just enough to dodge the blow. When the hammer struck, he jumped toward it and latched on. Clinging precariously to the head, he was pulled back toward the demon with the hammer. Halfway to the demon, he lost his grip and fell heavily to the ground. Rolling on impact, The Pilgrim covered the rest of the distance between himself and the demon. Attacking with all the strength he could he landed several blows on the already injured leg. The demon roared with outrage, unable to support itself any longer. It took an ungainly hop to the right, trying to balance, but fell heavily. The floor, already cracked from the hammer, groaned loudly under the demon's weight hitting it. Dropping its hammer, it attempted to push itself up. The Pilgrim rushed to the demon's head, again plunging his blade deep into it. The demon spasmed, smashing its head into the undead and sending him sprawling. The demon roared loudly, twitching violently. The Pilgrim tensed as he saw the demon beginning to glow, unsure what was about to happen.

The demon's roars turned into a rumble as its death throes ceased, and it became suffused with light. Suddenly the demon disappeared in a blast of light, light which flowed into The Pilgrim. When The Pilgrim had killed the hollows in the asylum, the souls they had gathered had flown into him, but this was different. The rush of power was intense, he felt as though he were about to burst. The Pilgrim sat in the middle of the room, gasping for air. He quickly came to his senses, realizing that in its condition the floor could collapse at any moment. He saw the demon's hammer lying on the ground and moved toward it. He thought he had seen something when he grabbed it earlier. Sure enough, when he got a closer look he noticed a large key tied just below the head of the hammer. With a sharp tug he broke the weathered material that tied it in place. The key was about as large as his forearm, and cast iron. He suspected it would fit nicely in the large ornate lock on the door he had examined earlier.

He looked again at the matching set of double doors to the ones he'd entered through. They weren't far, but the key was heavy and wouldn't fit in his pouch. As he tried to figure out how he would get it across the room without leaving himself defenseless, his darksign flared. He jumped, surprised by the sudden light and was dismayed to see the iron key burst into flame. It burned intensely for a moment, before disappearing in a puff of smoke. He stood up, frantically searching for any remnant of the key. Finding nothing, he ran to the door. Not surprisingly it was locked, causing him to panic. He needed that key back, and it had just vanished in a puff of smoke. As he wished to have the key back, the darksign again lit up. In a burst of flame, the key reappeared in his hand, nearly knocking him over with the sudden weight. Relief washed over him as he inspected it, there were no visible signs of damage to the key. Working on a hypothesis, he willed the key away again and sure enough the darksign activated. They key again vanished in smoke and fire. Conversely when he willed the key back to his hand, it appeared there with equal theatrics.

Inwardly glowing with his new discovery, he attempted the same with his helmet. The results were the same. This was an incredibly handy finding. Focusing again on the task at hand, he retrieved the key and inserted it, with difficulty, into the lock. The door unlocked and he pushed it open, rather easily compared to the other doors. Several hollows stood before the building, turning toward him holding burning pieces of wood. Drawing his blade, he dashed toward the sluggish undead. He felled two of them before the other two were close enough to attack him. Dodging a flaming board, he kicked at the hollow and brought his sword down to finish it. The last hollow managed to hit him with its club, but The Pilgrim drove his shoulder into it and knocked it to the ground where he quickly finished it off.

He surveyed the scene, not seeing any other hollows in the vicinity. It appeared there had been other buildings here once, though now only their bases remained. A path rose up a hill before him, and he could see he was standing at the top of a cliff. He tried to look down, but his view was obscured by clouds or fog, he wasn't sure which. Seeing no other options he made his way up the path. A large nest lay on a ledge to his right, much to large for any normal bird. He continued past it, not wanted to disturb whatever, if anything, lay inside.

The path ended abruptly, a sheer cliff at the end. The Pilgrim walked to the end and looked down. More clouds… He turned back toward the asylum. The knight had come here to make pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords, so there must be some way there. He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't notice the flapping of wings behind him until it was nearly deafening. He turned around just in time to see a giant crow diving toward him, talons outstretched. There was no time to defend himself, the crow grabbed him in its talons and flew off above the clouds as he dangled helplessly, powerless to stop the crow from taking him where it would.

(A note about the Darksign)

I know it's never mentioned in game that the Darksign has any power beyond sending you back to a bonfire, but it's also never stated how you can carry 46 greatswords either. I used a little bit of creativity on that note, and whether it makes sense or not it was the best I could come up with. I mean, there's only three people who could carry that much on them at once. Chuck Norris, Sylvester Stallone, and AHNALD!


	4. The Land of Ancient Lords

The flight was unnerving. The Pilgrim had tried several times to break the crow's grip when he figured land was, probably, within a survivable drop. Each time the bird only tightened its grip and continued flying. After what seemed like several hours, they left the mountainous landscape behind. The ground was now obscured by a dense cover of clouds. The flight seemed endless, and The Pilgrim went through hundreds of scenarios in his head. If the crow wanted him dead, it would have just dropped him. It must want him alive, food for its young? How many would there be?

He failed to notice the great bird dive slowly toward the cloud cover until the clouds encased his field of vision. Readying himself for what was to come, he started as the bird dropped him. Getting his feet underneath himself just in time, he landed heavily on solid ground. He drew his sword and turned to take stock of his surroundings. He wasn't in a nest, he was standing in the middle of an ancient courtyard, once beautiful now overgrown by weeds and vegetation. A man sat on a fallen pillar nearby, and the Pilgrim turned toward him. The Pilgrim brought forward his blade, unsure of the man's intentions.

This elicited a chuckle from the man. "Aren't we jumpy?" He asked in a monotone.

"Who…Who are you?" The Pilgrim asked, voice cracking from extended disuse.

The man laughed again. "No one important, not that it matters here anyway."

"And where is here?"

"Hah hah hah, such a grand entrance and you don't even know where you are? You've dropped into Lordran, friend, home of the Lords themselves."

The Land of Ancient Lords, Lordran. The crow had brought him here. The Pilgrim was dumbfounded.

"You should put that blade away. No telling what someone might do if they were threatened…" The man said, hand drifting over the hilt of his own blade.

The Pilgrim sheathed his weapon. "My apologies."

"So, let me guess. Fate of the Undead, right? Well, you're not the first.  
>But there's no salvation here. You'd have done better to rot in the Undead Asylum… But, too late now." The man said in his bored tone.<p>

"Yes, I was sent here on pilgrimage by a man who saved my life." The Pilgrim answered.

"How noble… Well, since you're here… Let me help you out. There are actually two Bells of Awakening. One's up above, in the Undead Church. The other is far, far below, in the ruins at the base of Blighttown." The man continued, unimpressed.

The Pilgrim removed his helmet to get a better view of the surrounding areas. There stood great walls that rose high above him, over which he could see the roofs of great buildings. He moved closer to the edge of the shrine and noted ruins far below, sunken in water.

The warrior glanced over at him and gasped slightly. "Oh, your face! You're practically Hollow. But who knows, going Hollow could solve quite a bit! Hah hah hah hah…"

The Pilgrim wondered for a moment. He removed his gauntlet and ran his hand over his face. He found that his skin was leathery and dessicated. It came as a shock to him, as he hadn't seen his face in…A long time. "Can I fix this?" He asked, more to himself than the warrior.

"Hm, what? Restoring your humanity? Well, there are a few ways to go about it… Collect it bit by bit from corpses, or you can butter up a cleric, and get yourself summoned. And the quickest way, although I'd never do it, is to kill a healthy Undead, and pillage its humanity. Coveting thy neighbour is only human, after all! Hah hah hah hah…" The man said offhand. The Pilgrim stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of what he'd said. "What are you looking at? Don't try anything clever. You might regret it."

"I'm not going to hurt you, I just don't understand what you mean. You speak as if humanity is a physical object." The Pilgrim responded, chagrined.

"You are truly clueless aren't you? Ah well… Do you see that corpse over there? Hanging over that well? Do you notice anything strange about it?"

The Pilgrim looked where he was gesturing. Indeed there was a body leaning over a well. He walked closer to it, almost drawn to it really, and noticed a small black figure floating around it. "You mean this?" He asked the warrior.

"Pick it up, it won't kill you. Directly…"

The Pilgrim extended his hand toward the sprite, managing to grab hold of it. It felt as though he was holding mist, insubstantial, yet tangible. "What is it?"

"The cause of, and solution to, your problems. Humanity. Hollows crave it, though I doubt they even remember why anymore. Go ahead and break that in your hands."

"Break it…?" The Pilgrim muttered. The thing was oddly resilient to being broken, instead flowing through his fingers. With one quick movement however he was able to crush it in his hand. A strange white and black light suffused his body for a moment before fading. The feeling was even more exhilarating than souls. He felt, well, alive!

Something on his face must have belied his thoughts. "Hah hah hah… Like a newborn babe. Do you know what to do with that?" The warrior asked. The Pilgrim shook his head.

"Sit next to the bonfire then."

The Pilgrim sat next to the fire, noting that it was the largest flame he'd seen yet, encompassing almost the whole sword rather than just the tip. "Now, strengthen your soul first, then I'll tell you how to restore your humanity."

The Pilgrim turned to look at the man, his face blank. The man sighed. "Not even that? Ah well… It's a good thing I was here, or you would have died right away. Not that it would have stopped you though, eh? No, I don't think going Hollow will stop you at all… All right, simply envision the parts of yourself you wish to make stronger and offer your souls to the bonfire."

The Pilgrim looked back to the bonfire, still unsure of what to do, but unwilling to ask any more questions. He stared into the fire, picturing himself stronger, faster, more resilient. He extended his hand toward the fire, and felt the souls rush out of his body. The feeling that replaced them was momentary. Blinding pain, pure ecstasy, both of these things at once, then nothing. He looked down at himself, feeling noticeably stronger and more dexterous.

"Well done, now just repeat after me. An old healing rite from the clerics, but we undead have found new uses for it. '_Thou who art undead hath a purpose. To aid thee in thine purpose, to your original form you must returneth. In the name of Lord Gwyn, returneth to thine true form that you may stand against his enemies once again._'"

The Pilgrim turned to the man. "That doesn't make sense. Being near Hollow hasn't stopped me from fighting yet."

The man set his gaze upon him unusually intensely. "Then you are more fortunate than most. Most will only ever get one shot at being undead before their body and mind wither. They will crave the humanity they no longer possess the faculties to use."

The Pilgrim turned back to the fire, reciting the verse the warrior had taught him. He felt slightly drained as the humanity slipped out of his body and into the fire. Suddenly he felt warmth, as though the flame had reached out to grab him, that receded almost as quickly as it had begun. Looking back down at his hand, he saw not the arm of a Hollow, but his own human arm again. He immediately noticed an increase in his body's response time. He hadn't realized how muted his own movements had been until just now, as if everything were suddenly moving slower.

"There, now you should be ready to throw yourself into death's way once again. Me, I'm going to stay here… It's not too late to join me you know, can't be worse than going out there on some fool's errand."

The Pilgrim stood, replacing his gauntlet and helmet. "What the best way to the church then?"

The warrior pointed lazily toward the stone tower to his left. "Normally the lift would take you straight to the church, but it's broken. Perhaps it's a sign that it isn't worth the trouble of going there? If you absolutely must go though, your best bet would be the aqueduct. It should eventually lead you to the burg, and from there you should eventually be able to find a path to the church. After all it is at the top of the hill. Isn't hard to keep going up, but it's easier still to just stay here…"

The Pilgrim nodded, trying desperately to hide his annoyance at the man's cowardice. "My thanks for everything you've done."

With that, the Pilgrim headed toward the aqueduct in the distance, determination in his stride once more.


	5. Into the Undead Burg

As the Pilgrim came closer to the aqueduct, he noted several hollows idling near the stairs that led up to the water channel. He counted five, two on the ground and three near the stairs, shouldn't be a problem. He got as close as he could without being spotted, but once the hollows turned to him he began full out running at them. The first hollows drew their weapons, but he cut down one of them before they could retaliate. The other managed to get a swing in with its sword, which the Pilgrim easily blocked. Lashing out with his foot, the Pilgrim managed to knock the hollow off balance. Bringing his blade up to finish the creature, he cried out in pain as flames erupted near his feet with the crash of breaking clay.

He fell back with difficulty, leaving the hollow to recover. He pulled out his flask and took a draught. It felt as if he was breathing in flames and he coughed violently, though the pain in his legs receded. He worried at first that the Estus had damaged him now that he was human again, but quickly realized it was just in his mind. He noted that his flask seemed more full than usual, though he had taken as large a draught as ever. Perhaps the larger flame had allowed for the collection of more Estus? Still breathing heavily, he looked again to the hollows. The one that he had kicked was lurching toward him, almost within striking range. One of the three on the stairs followed close behind, carrying an axe. The other two remained on the stairs, more firebombs at the ready.

The Pilgrim took a breath, running forward and dispatching the hollow with practiced ease. He continued toward the axe wielder, dodging a firebomb along the way. The hollow brought the axe up, but the Pilgrim ran him through before he could bring it down. Heading up the stairs now, he dodged another firebomb before reaching one of the aggressors. The hollow fumbled with its sword for a moment before meeting the Pilgrim in battle. It swung for him, but the Pilgrim was able to dodge easily. The Pilgrim readied to press the attack when the hollow's back burst into flame and it began flailing. It lunged toward him, engulfed in flame. The Pilgrim started for a moment, unsure of what to do. The moment of hesitation was enough for the hollow to grab onto his armor. The both of them toppled over the staircase into nothingness.

The Pilgrim panicked, letting go of his sword and reaching for any kind of purchase. He managed to grab onto the bottom of the aqueduct, narrowly avoiding falling to his death. His assailant lost his grip, plummeting out of sight within a second due to the obscuring fog. He looked up to see the remaining hollow staring down at him. It brought its arm back to toss a firebomb, but lost its footing and fell. It landed heavily on its neck near the Pilgrim before tumbling into the abyss below. The Pilgrim hoisted himself over the ledge, feeling more grateful than ever for the hollows' lack of dexterity. The Pilgrim sat on the ledge for a bit, allowing himself a moment's rest.

He stood again after a short while. He needed to find another weapon. He leapt back toward the cliff face from the aqueduct and began searching the bodies of the hollows he had slain. Many of the hollows' weapons were in advanced states of disrepair. The swords the hollows had been attacking with were chipped and cracked, of little use to him in the long run. The axe he found he could make use of, showing only minimal rusting. He resolved that if he found a usable weapon in the future, he would store it within his Darksign in the event of another such occasion. You could never be too careful…

Ascending the staircase again he slipped into the aqueduct via a service entrance. The hall was damp and smelled of mold. He had no torch to light his way, but the interior was given sparse light through cracks in the ancient structure. The Pilgrim pressed onward, more than once having to fight rats that had grown to gargantuan sizes, one even came up to his waist. It seemed even the animals were unable to escape the corruption of this once utopian land.

The channel continued on for a long while before the Pilgrim began to see signs of a city below. He decided to follow the aqueduct a ways more, finally leaving it once it began to veer off in another direction, away from the burg. He headed out another service entrance, squinting at the light of the full sunlight again. He was glad to see the cathedral he had been told about wasn't far off. It lay just up the hill, overlooking the city. Getting to it would be no easy task however; as he could see several buildings had collapsed making the road impassable in some places. He was unsurprised to find hollows waiting at the bottom of the staircase. They didn't appear to be paying attention to him, milling about mindlessly. He charged toward them, axe feeling clumsy in his hand. Instinct took over though and the fight was over quickly, he managed to slay two of them before they had even drawn their weapons. The third didn't manage to do more than swing its weapon once before the Pilgrim buried the axe in its chest.

The Pilgrim continued on his way, occasionally fighting a group of hollows. It seemed the further into the Burg he went, the smarter they became. One particular group had apparently set an ambush for any passersby. They had left a large amount of shiny trinkets lying in the middle of the street. The Pilgrim had come closer to investigate and was surprised when four hollows pulled themselves over the railing they had been hanging off of to attack him. He had knocked two of them off the rail before they managed to climb up, sending them plummeting to the roofs below. The other two flanked him, though he managed to easily trip one. The opening allowed him to quickly finish it off, but the other hollow managed to leave a nasty wound on his side. The Pilgrim had finished the hollow off within a moment, but was forced to take a swig from his flask to heal the injury. There was very little remaining of the miraculous Estus, and the Pilgrim had no idea when he'd be able to return to the dilapidated shrine to refill his flask.

The Pilgrim continued upward, stymied more than once by promising paths having been made impassable due to destroyed bridges or buildings. He entered into a building whose upper level seemed to exit into a fortress nearly below the cathedral. Finding the house thankfully deserted, he climbed the stairs and exited onto the bridge leading to the fortress. The view was breathtaking. From his position he could see much of the city. He was slightly confused why the residential burg emptied into the militaristic fort, though he imagined it had made it easier for a militia to be mustered.

Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice the large shadow descending. The entire world seemed to shake and the Pilgrim was thrown to the ground. He looked up to see a large drake perched on the battlement near him. It made no move to attack him, instead gazing out at the city below. He stayed still, hoping it would mistake him for just another hollow. Its gaze suddenly shifted toward him and it let out a screech. The Pilgrim leapt to his feet, drawing his axe. The drake lashed out with his tail, knocking the Pilgrim into the battlements with incredible force. He noted a blade lodged in the drake's tail that seemed to be of incredible craftsmanship, but he had no time to dwell on it. Regaining his composure he lunged for the drake, but the creature took to the sky. It flew a distance away, perching above a gate that led directly to the cathedral. He waited for it to swoop in again and attack, but it seemed content to stay where it was, dozing off after a time.

The Pilgrim determined that he had probably had one of his ribs broken. Breathing was incredibly painful, and he deliberated whether or not he should use the last of his Estus. He decided to take a look ahead of him, and see what lay in store. He climbed a short staircase, and immediately fell back. The courtyard it led into was flooded with hollows, all barricaded behind makeshift barriers. He sighed as he pulled the flask out. The breath of Estus burned especially badly due to the injury to his ribs, but soon faded into the blissful nothingness that came with the healing.

Taking a deep breath, the Pilgrim readied his weapons and charged. The hollows were taken completely by surprise. The Pilgrim rammed into the first barricade he encountered, toppling it upon the two hollows behind it. He continued on, dealing grievous wounds to three hollows in his wake. He finally reached his target, a hollow wielding a bow. With a powerful swing he cleaved the bow in two, burying the axe in the hollow's head. Yanking the axe free, he surveyed the scene. Chaos reigned around him; hollows drew their weapons or looked about franticly as if confused. He fought his way back to the barricade he had knocked over, finishing the hollows as they tried to crawl out from under the wooden wall.

He felt the air knocked from his lungs as he was hit in the chest, his armor protecting him. A bolt clattered to the ground in front of him, and he looked to see where it had come from. Several more hollows had gathered on the balcony overlooking the courtyard he now stood in. The hollow that had fired the crossbow donned armor that seemed relatively well kept. An adventurer who had lost all of his humanity? He didn't pause to think about it, the hollows were all more than aware of him now, and had all prepared themselves to fight. At least ten of them were already in the courtyard, moving toward him with ungainly steps. The Pilgrim's eyes flicked around the area, looking for any sort of advantage, and then he spotted it. A gatehouse on the upper balcony, it had only one entrance and a bridge leading to it that he could funnel his enemies with. It was the best advantage he was going to get.

He waited until the hollows had mostly surrounded him and gathered on the far side of the courtyard, trading blows with a few who got too close. When the time was right, he sprinted forward. Several hollows swung at him, but he neatly dodged the blows and gave a few in return. He brought the axe down on a hollow that moved to block him and jumped its fallen corpse as he made a break for the stairs. He had left a majority of the group behind, but more were coming down the stairs even now and he was headed straight toward them.

He rushed into them, knocking them down like dominoes as they mindlessly clung to each other to avoid falling off the unprotected ledge. As they struggled to get to their feet, he pressed onward. A few hollows grasped at his legs, but he managed to free himself before any of them could harm him. When he reached the top of the staircase, two hollows stood waiting with swords drawn. He jumped towards them, blocking the first blow with his shield. He lodged the axe in the chest of the hollow on his right, but couldn't dislodge it in time to dodge an attack from the other. He was slow to shield himself, and suffered a wound to his axe arm.

His arm seared with pain, and he knew he wouldn't be able to use it for meaningful attacks. Lashing out with his shield, he caught the hollow in the jaw and sent it hurtling into the open space on the other side of the staircase. The Pilgrim moved toward the bridge to the gatehouse and was pleasantly surprised to see that only one hollow was closing in on him, unfortunately it was the one with well kept armor. This hollow was undoubtedly more intelligent than the rest, having abandoned its crossbow and drawn a sword to give chase. The Pilgrim headed into the gatehouse and was overjoyed to see the same type of blade lodged in the ground as he had seen in the asylum and the shrine. Now was no time to rest at a bonfire though. He turned about and saw that the gate seemed to still be in working order. The hollow that was giving chase was nearly to the gatehouse, the rest following closely behind him. The Pilgrim decided to take a risk and shut the gate, unsure if it would ever be able to rise again. He ran to the locking mechanism and threw it open, causing the gate to come crashing down. The pursuing hollow dove forward, managing to get into the gatehouse just as the gate slammed shut. The rest of the hollows were locked out of the area, though they still ran toward the iron gate and began pounding upon it.

The Pilgrim faced down the hollow that had made it in. Its eyes burned with an intelligence he had never seen in a hollow before. "You were human recently, weren't you?" He asked rhetorically.

The hollow continued to glare at him, rasping breaths coming steadily. It opened its mouth as if to speak, but no words came, only an inhuman moaning. The hollow rushed forward. The pilgrim had to think quickly. His sword arm was still no use, and this was definitely not going to be as easy as killing a normal hollow. The hollow swung its sword with skill, unlike the clumsy attacks the others used. The Pilgrim blocked it, and fell back to the center of the room. The hollow circled him, blade forward. The Pilgrim rushed forward, feinting with the shield. The hollow took the bait, and moved to dodge the attack. While it was off balance, the Pilgrim lashed out with his shield fully and knocked the hollow to the ground. Pouncing on top of the foe, the Pilgrim brought the shield up to finish him. The hollow squirmed underneath him, freeing its sword and stabbing the Pilgrim through the chest. The Pilgrim's vision swam, but he still brought the shield down. The hollow stopped writhing underneath him. The Pilgrim fell to the ground. He crawled toward the bonfire, if he could just light it…

He reached toward it, and the spark of a flame came to life. As the Pilgrim's vision faded to nothingness, he saw the flames licking up the blade of the stone sword.


	6. Luck's Limits

The Pilgrim awoke some time later, lying next to the bonfire. Sitting up slowly the world slowly stopped swaying around him and his thoughts cleared.

He looked down at himself, seeing that the bonfire had healed his wounds. He had no idea how long he'd been out though. Turning toward the gate, he noted that it was still shut. The hollows outside had seemingly forgotten about him, though they still milled about in and above the courtyard. He took a moment to refill his flask with Estus as well.

The Pilgrim stood and examined the gatehouse. The tower led up another story or two, straight up to the bridge the drake rested on if he remembered correctly. The stairs had collapsed long ago, making them impassable. He noted a ladder as well, though it was secured well out of his reach. If he could get it down, he'd have easy access to the bridge. He tried tossing pieces of debris at it, but it was secured much too tightly.

He ceased the futile task and turned back toward the gate. Thankfully, he figured he'd be able to raise it back up. He hadn't figured upon being trapped in here indefinitely, and coming so close made him realize he'd need to think things through better in the future. Walking over to the gate mechanism, he tested the crank and found it did in fact work.

Some of the hollows outside turned toward the slight movement of the gate, but quickly resumed their shambling once they determined it wasn't a living creature. The Pilgrim moved over to the fallen hollow that had almost killed him, taking its sword and storing the axe within the Darksign. The rest of its armor was in relatively good shape as well, but it was lighter armor than his own and he didn't feel he could use it as comfortably. He left it on the hollow and prepared to open the gate.

He didn't figure fighting all those hollows was a smart move, but he couldn't be sure he could outrun them either. He mulled his options, hands on the crank. He decided he'd have a better chance running, and hoping to find a natural funnel. The gatehouse worked well, but they would be able to surround him if any got past. The crank groaned in protest as he rotated it. The hollows outside didn't hesitate this time.

The Pilgrim raised the gate just high enough to get himself underneath, and then locked it in place. As soon as it held, he bolted and slid under the door. His armor made the task difficult, but he managed to slide far enough to clear the gate. Leaping to his feet, he plunged his blade into the closest hollow to him, and then sprinted across the open ground before any more could catch up.

He headed toward a bridge that connected the upper balcony of the courtyard to another tower not far away. As he neared the bridge though, the familiar crash of shattering clay preceded the blast of flame from a firebomb. The throw was terribly inaccurate, but was quickly followed by two more that were much closer to him. The Pilgrim stopped in his tracks, seeking the hidden assailants. He found the two of them on the roof of a nearby house, tossing the firebombs quite a distance. He quickly deduced that he was just out of their range.

Looking back, he noted at least seven hollows chasing him. He decided to chance the bridge. Across the bridge was an open gate, but he couldn't see inside due to the walls. He hoped there weren't more waiting for him, but experience taught him to expect differently. He paused just long enough to let the hollows get as close as possible, timing the explosions as well. When the time was right, he ran across the bridge, several hollows only a few seconds away from him. He heard the firebombs behind him, as well as a few hollows falling, but didn't turn to see how many had been burned.

The Pilgrim dove through the gateway, rolling and drawing his weapon as he stood. Three hollows stood near the door, slow to react to his entrance. Outside, he was surprised to find that nearly every hollow following him had been injured by the firebombs. One of the hollows in the room leapt at him, axe above its head. The Pilgrim stepped back, dodging the blow and lashed out with his shield. The hollow slammed into the wall and crumpled, never to rise again. Moving forward, the Pilgrim ducked under one of the hollow's blades and skewered him, turning quickly to behead the other.

Stragglers from the bridge began coming in, though the damage they had sustained made it easy to deal with the lot of them. The Pilgrim stayed alert waiting for any more hollows to try to come across the bridge, but none did. The firebombs had been pounding the side of the gatehouse for a short while when he had first entered, though they stopped shortly after he had dealt with his pursuers. Whether it was because they had given up or because they had finally run out of the damnable bombs, he had no idea.

He didn't have to wait long for the answer. He headed for one of the exits, though he found that the gate was secured from the other side. He couldn't fit his arm through to unlatch it, so he turned toward the only remaining exit. As he headed toward the simple wooden door he heard the sound of something falling heavily outside. It was followed by another in a few moments, and then the door was kicked open. A hollow wearing tattered armor came running in, brandishing its sword with shield held high. The Pilgrim held his ground parrying the hollow's strike and impaling it. A firebomb burst in front of him, causing him to bolt to the side and out of the line of sight of his attacker.

The hollows must have fallen off the roof, landing just outside the tower. Their dogged pursuit annoyed the Pilgrim, but gave him an idea as well. He wondered if they would blindly chase him inside the tower if he stayed out of sight. Crouched beside the doorway, well away from the dangerous explosives, he waited. After a few more bombs, sure enough one of the hollows stumbled inside. The Pilgrim whistled, causing the hollow to turn toward him. Like a flash of lightning the Pilgrim leapt forward, driving the blade into its chest and kicking it off the blade in one motion.

The Pilgrim didn't give the other hollow time to react. He sprinted toward it, driving the edge of his shield into its head. It sprawled lifeless to the ground and the Pilgrim fell back inside the tower. He held his breath, scanning the area for any threats. Finding none, he sank to the ground, resting after the exertion of the prolonged fighting. He kept his rest short, in case any hollows had heard the fighting and were headed to investigate.

Heading out from the tower, he saw another tower nearby. It was extremely large, one of the outside walls of the fortress that was merged with the burg. The tower had a large rampart that connected with the bridge, and he could see a staircase leading up to it. He hoped it would be accessible, unlike the stairs in the other tower.

He headed toward the tower, unable to suppress a feeling of excitement as he neared his goal. A few hollows stood in his way, but his mounting excitement combined with the combat practice he'd been getting allowed him to make quick work of them. He vaguely remembered when even the mindless hollows in the asylum, long since soul starved, had given him trouble. He supposed it hadn't helped that he had been near hollow himself, his movements slowed and his mind dulled.

He abandoned his thoughts when he came close enough to the tower to see the staircase. The stairs were intact, though there appeared to be some debris at the top of the staircase. A smile slowly spread across his face, even though the hollows at the base of the tower rushed toward him even now. He made quick work of the three of them, salvaging another sword from one of the fallen hollows. He noticed that the closer he came to the church, the better equipped the hollows were. He wondered if they had managed to defeat other undead like himself, journeying to ring the bells, and taken their humanity leaving them hollow as well.

He moved toward the stairs, seeing that he'd be able to easily climb the debris in front of the doorway. Then he saw the rubble moving, a barrel was rocking. No, not rocking, it was being pushed! The Pilgrim turned back and fled just as the barrel came roaring down the stairs. The barrel was right behind him, and he knew he wouldn't have time to turn at the bottom. Instead, he leapt over the small wall that acted as a rail for the stairs, falling about a story onto a lower balcony.

The barrel hit the rail and shattered in an explosion of wood. The Pilgrim landed heavily, but regained himself quickly. He wasn't far off course, a split in the path he hadn't taken before. He headed back toward the tower, but was stopped when something he had taken to be a statue moved to block him. It was a suit of armor, charred black by the looks of it. It was giant, nearly seven feet tall and holding a sword as large as the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim took an uneasy step back, unsure what to do. He couldn't retreat, there was nowhere to go, and the drop from the balcony would surely be fatal. He didn't fancy his chances fighting this thing either. Then his decision was made for him. The knight rushed forward, swinging the sword with both hands. Taken by surprise, the Pilgrim brought his shield up to block.

The thing's strength was monstrous. It dented his shield and knocked him flat, his arm totally numb. He realized that defense would be impossible, and decided to bring the attack to the knight. The Pilgrim rolled back to his feet, rushing forward to engage his foe. Moving faster than its size belied, the knight brought the blade up and drove it through the Pilgrim's chest.

The pain was excruciating and the Pilgrim tried to scream. Air refused to come to his lungs though, and instead he only managed to open his mouth in agony. The knight stared at him for a moment, a moment that seemed to drag into eons for the Pilgrim, before taking a step forward and launching the Pilgrim off his blade.

The Pilgrim was only vaguely aware that he was flying through the air, straight over the balcony and into open space. The pain dissipated and he knew he was dying, his luck had run out. He welcomed it after the pain. He didn't notice himself crash into the roof below, nor realize how unnaturally his body was bent. He only knew that it would be over soon. Then, just as he was about to succumb to the release of death, the Darksign flared up. Bright enough for even his failing vision to see, and getting brighter. Curious, though it didn't matter, nothing mattered. He was going to sleep…

And then the Darksign burst into flame, looking exactly like the bonfires except hot. Agonizingly hot, worse even than the sword. The flame quickly engulfed the Pilgrim's entire body, burning him to ash in a matter of seconds.


	7. A New Lease on Life

The Pilgrim's eyes snapped open and he sat upright, breathing heavily. It took him a moment to get his bearings. He was sitting next to a bonfire... What had happened to him? The hollow with the well maintained armor lay nearby! He had just stabbed him! Or was that a long time ago? He felt as if a fog were encompassing his mind...

He looked down at his skin, finding it dried and scarred like the rest of the hollows. He pounded his fist on the ground in anger. Had that hollow killed him? Looking down he saw a hole in the breastplate he wore, far larger than the hollow's sword could have made. Then that hollow couldn't have been why he died, but what had caused this hole? He threw a rock in frustration, which clattered off the gate that led outside.

He bit back a curse at the telltale noise and drew his blade, waiting for an attack. When none came, he exhaled slowly and sheathed his sword once more. He chided himself for the stupidity of his actions. What possessed him to do something like that? He kept himself calm, breathing steadily. Why was he having so much trouble keeping himself under control?

Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought and moved outside the gatehouse. The sun had gone down, how long had he been out? A few hollows were stumbling about in the courtyard below, nothing like the numbers he had encountered earlier. The bridge leading to the other tower was covered in bodies; he chose not to go that way as he was unsure what had killed them. Most appeared to be burnt and he feared the drake may have had something to do with it as there were burn marks all over the bridge. He opted to sneak past the hollows below, feeling too sluggish to fight unless necessary. If only he were human...

It wasn't difficult to sneak past them in the darkness, though he was extra careful not to kick anything in the gloom. The night was lit by the moon, for which he was pleased. It allowed him enough light to see two hollows standing at the top level of another tower, which led down. He figured he'd be able to take them, so he snuck up on them. The two of them seemed to be squabbling, trying to get down the stairs first.

As they shoved one another, the Pilgrim drew his sword and closed to striking distance. He kicked out at one of them, sending it tumbling down the stairs, and slashed the other with his blade. The blow was shallow and the hollow spun, grabbing onto him. The Pilgrim struggled to free himself, but its grip was like iron. The hollow tackled him to the ground, pinning his sword, and began smashing his head against the ground. Though his own semi-hollow state dulled the pain, he still saw stars from the force of the blows.

The Pilgrim heaved his body, sending the hollow tumbling forward off of him. He stood and quickly turned, piercing the hollow with his blade. As he withdrew it, he felt another hand grab the back of his armor and toss him toward the stairs. He sailed through open air for a moment, seeing the other hollow as it threw him past it. He'd given it ample time to recover and failed to watch his back. Sloppy... He landed on the back of his neck, tumbling painfully down the other half of the staircase.

The Pilgrim rose shakily to his feet before promptly being bowled into by the hollow, who had tripped and fallen down the stairs in chase, knocking him flat once again. The Pilgrim growled with rage, standing and raining sword blows upon the stunned hollow. He continued to slash at it even after it was surely dead. The haze covering his vision slowly lifted, and he realized exactly what he was doing.

He dropped his sword in horror, reeling from the bloody mess on the floor. What had come over him? He had never been driven to do things like this before! He was acting... Inhuman, he realized with shock. He had been hollow once before, but he'd never lost his humanity. Could the sprite have really been that literal? It was difficult to wrap his mind around, especially in his current state. He gave up on the thought, instead endeavoring to press on and maintain control of himself.

The Pilgrim sheathed his sword and got a better look at the bottom of the stairs. He was in a small room. It appeared to be some sort of makeshift bedroom that soldiers could have used on extended watch in the tower while another stood guard up top. The only features were a very deteriorated bookshelf and a bed that had long since collapsed. The tower continued down and away from the bridge, and therefore the church. He began to walk back up the stairs when he stopped. He thought for sure he'd heard a hollow in the room. He walked over toward the bed, sure of it now. He listened for another hushed, yet ragged breath that had given it away.

...There! It was behind the bookshelf! He went to move the bookshelf, but as he stepped towards it the bookshelf suddenly broke into pieces. A hollow came running at him, the bookshelf hadn't slowed it. The Pilgrim was caught off guard, half raising his shield and trying to draw his sword. He completed neither of the actions, instead the hollow's broken sword cut deep into his side and he was knocked to the floor by a flailing fist that followed it.

The Pilgrim rolled to the side as the hollow jumped at the spot he had just been laying, stabbing its broken blade into the stones of the floor. It stabbed the ground in blind fury a few times, evidently unaware or unconcerned that it had missed its target. The Pilgrim kicked at the confused creature, knocking it flat. With one fluid movement the Pilgrim stood and slew the hollow, who screamed with outrage until its breath left it.

The Pilgrim sat down in the middle of the floor, checking the wound in his side. His armor was ragged by now, torn and cut in a dozen places from all the combat he'd faced. He pulled the flask from his belt and inhaled the healing Estus. He sighed as his flesh knitted back together, a feeling he wasn't quite sure he'd ever get used to, and stood up to return to the bonfire.

Heading back to the stairs he heard something that made him stop once more. "Looks like he's leaving Yulia. Won't trouble us any, eh? Nee hee hee hee hee."

He turned toward the voice. It was coming from outside the tower. He headed toward the large doorway, and walked out onto the balcony.

A slight man outside, clearly undead, scrambled away from the doorway. "Ah, he's here to kill us! Don't worry Yulia, I'll protect you!" He cried, fumbling to draw the strangely shaped sword he carried.

The Pilgrim put his hands out in front of him. "I bear you no ill will."

The man eyed him carefully. "Well now... You seem to have your wits about you, hmm?" He mumbled, returning the sword to his side. He continued to stare at him as he took a seat in the middle of the balcony. The Pilgrim merely nodded. "Then you are a welcome customer!" He shouted, causing the Pilgrim to scan the area for any hollows that may have heard.

The Pilgrim ground his teeth to keep from lashing out at the deranged man. "I have no money, so I should be going." He said, not wanting to be near him any longer.

The man grinned. "Not very bright, is he Yulia? I trade for souls. Everything is for sale! Nee hee hee hee hee!" He said, gesturing to the assorted junk behind him and cackling maniacally.

The Pilgrim sneered at the insult, and saw nothing among the man's junk he wished to purchase. "Just who are you talking to, this woman seems to be in your head alone." He retorted.

The man turned to him with a befuddled look. "Who? I'm not talking to..." he stopped suddenly, a look of realization coming over his face. He put his hand on the sword at his side. "Ah, this one?" He asked, caressing the blade. "Her name is Yulia. She's plumb in love with me. You'd never leave my side, now would you, Yulia?" He cooed, stroking the sheathe with his thumb.

The Pilgrim slowly moved to draw his blade, fearing the insane man would strike at any moment. The undead merchant noticed his movement, and moved his hand to his blade as well. "Seeking to strike me down and take her for yourself, eh? Ah, you can forget it. I'm the only one she needs." He said, a smile playing at his face. Suddenly he acted as if he were keeping the sword from leaping out of its sheath. The Pilgrim drew his sword, but made no other move as he was entirely unsure what was happening. He continued to back away as the man called to him. "Careful, she'll bite your little fingers off." This comment seemed to send him into a new fight for restraint of his sword. "Be kind, Yulia, be kind! Nee hee hee hee hee!"

The Pilgrim reached the doorway, ready to fight or flee if he had to. The merchant seemed to notice that he was making his escape for the first time. He ceased "fighting" for control of the blade and called out to the Pilgrim as he retreated through the door. "Not buying anything? Hmph. What a waste of time. Go fall off a cliff!"

The merchant made no attempt to follow the Pilgrim, instead sitting back in his chosen spot on the platform, mumbling to the sword at his waist. The Pilgrim ignored him and decided to return to the bonfire. Heading back toward the stairs, he stopped when something on the hollow that had been behind the shelf caught his eye. Movement, something flitted out of view. He walked over to the body, examining it more closely. There it was again, hidden under the hollow's ragged clothing. Pulling back the ripped garment that passed as the hollow's shirt, the Pilgrim gasped as a black sprite flew out from underneath and hovered near him. That must have been what the hollows at the top of the stairs were fighting for. He reached out to it, but it made no attempt to fly away.

He held his hand out, watching as the humanity floated above it. He wrapped his hand around it, compelled to crush it and feel the rush that it would bring. He gave in to the urge, inhaling sharply as it merged with his being. A wide grin spread over his face, and he raced back to the bonfire.

No hollows stood in his way and he easily made it back to the gatehouse. He struggled to remember the words that the crestfallen warrior had taught him, having only heard them one time. Finally recalling the ritual, he recited the ancient words and was thrilled by the rush of warmth that coursed through him. He watched as the skin on his hand flowed from the arm down, turning from the burnt, scarred skin of a hollow to the normal skin of a human.


	8. Retribution

The Pilgrim took a deep breath, marveling at the feeling. He refilled his flask with Estus before standing. He headed back onto the balcony. His journey downward had been rewarding to be sure, but merely by chance. It appeared that he'd need to head across the burned bridge. He drew his sword, creeping slowly across the bridge. He kept an eye on the drake, who still appeared to be sleeping above the gate of the church. It didn't appear to be awake, much less aware of him, but the Pilgrim decided to err on the side of caution and keep careful watch on it anyway.

His crossing was uneventful, and he found shards of clay that told him the fire was probably from the firebombs that the hollows tended to throw. He couldn't imagine what would cause them to attack each other though, as appeared to be the case here. He exited the gatehouse on the other side and headed deeper into the Burg.

He encountered only a few hollows, which he was able to dispatch with ease. He sighted a staircase that gave him a vague feeling of déjà vu, but he couldn't place why. Heading toward them he saw a few hollows in armor milling about, he also noted the stairs being blocked with debris. He held back, waiting to see what the hollows were doing. They were all grouped together in a small area, and he could see why upon closer inspection.

At the bottom of the staircase was a pool of what appeared to be blood, though it constantly bubbled and didn't seem to be entirely corporeal. The reason he knew the hollows were attracted to it though was that he could feel the wealth of souls it contained, even from so far away. He felt almost drawn to it himself really. Drawing his sword silently, he moved as stealthily as possible toward them.

He covered about three quarter of the distance between them when one of them noticed him. It drew its sword and came charging at him. The Pilgrim took up a defensive stance, deflecting the hollow's blade with his shield and plunging his sword into it. The other two came rushing in shortly after, but the Pilgrim dispatched them as well. Sheathing his sword, he headed over to the bloodstain to investigate. He knelt down and reached out his hand toward it.

The moment his hand drew near, the blood evaporated in a green mist which shot into his mouth and nose as he gasped in surprise. He felt a swell of energy within him as the souls were absorbed. More shocking however was the rush of memories that returned to him. He felt as though his head would surely split in two as the events leading up to his death were dredged up by the bloodstain.

The barrel and the knight... He realized now that the trap had been reset, with a hollow no doubt waiting to shove a barrel at him. He glanced about, seeing no trace of the knight. He was about to head to the staircase and trick the hollow into pushing the barrel, but then he had an idea. He looked over the edge of the railing, seeing the balcony he'd fallen on previously. He knew the knight would be waiting somewhere down there.

He doubled back, taking a fork in the road and eventually finding a staircase that led down to the knight, who stood stone still in the middle of an alley. A corpse lay behind him in a pool of dried blood, no doubt from the large gash in its side.

The Pilgrim waited for the knight to notice him, but came to realize that it either couldn't see him or it wasn't concerned with him. Feeling a bit off put, the Pilgrim edged closer with sword in hand. He had to get within fifteen feet of the knight, which he was admittedly nervous about, before it finally took up its sword and assumed a defensive stance.

He waited for it to attack, ready to retreat, but it just stood there. He thought about leaving it there, but he felt a desire for revenge and determined to destroy it one way or another. As the Pilgrim inched closer, the knight suddenly sprang into action. He twisted the sword he had been leaning on into his hands and lashed out at the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the massive blade. The sword clashed into the wall, sending bits of masonry flying and doing no apparent damage to the sword. The Pilgrim backpedalled, but the knight pressed his attack. The Pilgrim shielded the blow, and received a massive dent in his shield for the trouble. All illusion of hope shattered, he turned and fled.

The knight pursued him tirelessly, taking a swing when the gap between them shrunk, but the Pilgrim maintained his lead. He nearly turned back toward the bonfire, but then he had an idea. He turned back toward the stairs, and the knight followed only steps behind. He ran halfway up the stairs, stopping and turning back toward the knight. The knight brought his blade up and it came crashing down in a powerful overhead swing.

The Pilgrim leapt onto the railing at the last moment, and the knight's sword collided with the stone stairs. The knight recovered quickly, bringing his sword level and preparing to strike again. The Pilgrim was in a disadvantageous position, and would have been doomed if the barrel the hollow had pushed down the stairs hadn't collided with the knight.

The barrel had been filled with some form of tar, and it burst upon the knight's armor, the force of the blow knocking the knight off its feet. The Pilgrim leapt at the recovering knight, stabbing his blade into its chest. An unearthly screech came from its helmet, and black soot spilled from the wound, but the knight continued to move. The Pilgrim wrenched his blade upward, the knight's armor giving way with a terrible scraping noise.

Soot continued to pour from its armor and it fell back to the ground, writhing and dropping its blade. The Pilgrim's victory was short lived however as his back exploded with pain and he fell forward on top of the knight. He could feel blood pouring from a large wound in his back, and he turned to see the hollow that had set the trap raising its axe to finish him off.

The Pilgrim lashed out blindly with his foot, catching the hollow in the side of the leg and sending it toppling. The Pilgrim grabbed his flask from his belt and took a draught, feeling the pain in his back lessen, though the wound didn't heal completely. The Pilgrim got to his feet shakily, running the hollow through before it could rise. He turned to the knight to see that it was back on its feet, and had just picked up its blade.

Without a second thought the Pilgrim lunged, his sword held in both hands. The knight attempted to bash him in the head with the hilt of its blade, but its aim was off. The Pilgrim took a jarring blow to the shoulder as he simultaneously slammed his blade into the knight's armor.

The Pilgrim fell to the ground with a broken shoulder and the knight's armor rent open, meeting the previous damage the pilgrim had done. The Pilgrim blade snapped from the force of the blow, but the knight began to twitch violently as ash shot from its armor more violently than ever. Suddenly its armor began to disintegrate into ash as well until only its sword remained, which clattered on the stone steps.

The Pilgrim brought the flask back to his mouth and took another draught, his wounds healing fully this time. As he stood up, a wave of souls flooded into him and he had to catch his breath. That knight had some power within him! The Pilgrim recovered quickly, shaking off the slight euphoria and clearing his mind. He sighed as he cast the broken sword aside, it had served him well. He kept the sheath, in case he found another sword that would fit it. The axe burst forth in flame as he called it out of the Darksign, and he threaded it through his belt.

He walked over to the fallen knight, or at least the pile of ash that had once been a knight. The Pilgrim pondered how such a powerful creature could just crumble into a pile of dust like that. He attributed it to one of the many oddities of this land, turning his attention to more pressing matters. He sifted through the ashes of the knight on a whim and found two oddly shaped stones, perhaps some sort of ornaments that had been on its armor? He stored them within the Darksign, figuring to ask the crestfallen warrior he'd met earlier about them. He seemed knowledgeable, if cowardly.

The Pilgrim picked up the sword next, or tried to anyway. The thing was huge, and heavier than it looked to boot. He managed to lift it above his head with two hands, letting it drop and giving it some extra force. A portion of the stair beneath him exploded into shards, giving him a sense of satisfaction. This was a wonderfully crafted blade, but too heavy for normal use. Then he recalled the soul strengthening method the warrior had taught him. He'd been doing so much he'd nearly forgotten.

He contemplated going back and trying it, but based on the result of his last attempt he doubted the power he had now would be enough to help him wield the sword effectively. Instead he stored the blade in the Darksign as well, knowing it would eventually come in handy.

The Pilgrim turned and began ascending the stairs once more, finally able to head up the tower and closer to the cathedral and the first bell.


	9. By the Horns

The Pilgrim entered the tower, seeing a staircase to his left and a door across the room. He assumed the door would lead down, and thus further from his goal. He headed up the stairs instead. Upon reaching the next level of the tower, it became evident where the hollow had been finding the barrels to stock its trap. There were nearly a dozen of them, all presumably filled with the same liquid the other barrel had held.

He took a closer look at the layout of the tower and realized the barrels may well have been used to drop on foes trying to besiege the tower. The stairs were designed so as to allow anyone on a higher level to have a shot on their opponent's back as they climbed the stairs. If the liquid in the barrels were flammable, it would be incredibly effective in halting their advance. The Pilgrim made note to keep open flame away from the barrels as well, just in case.

He climbed another story and noticed another of the fog gates. He had encountered several on his journey so far, and this one appeared no different. Other than that there were only more barrels. He was about to head through the gate when he heard something scrape against a barrel. Pulling the axe from his belt, he turned toward the noise ready to defend himself. He saw no immediate threat, but wasn't keen on turning his back to the noise. Experience had taught him to err on the side of caution in this cursed land.

He edged closer to where he'd heard the noise, ready to attack should any hollows try to ambush him. Suddenly something darted out from behind the barrels, and the Pilgrim lashed out with the axe. A small, yet fat lizard met its end as the axe severed its head in one powerful swing. The Pilgrim returned the axe sheepishly, feeling silly for getting so worked up over a lizard. He couldn't help but notice that it had extremely brilliant scales. They were almost extremely luminescent, even in the dim light of the tower.

The lizard had something in its mouth, which the Pilgrim was curious to see. He knelt down and removed another of the small stones he'd found in the knight's remains. Now his curiosity was piqued, and he wondered what he'd find in its stomach. He picked up the lizard's body, which was roughly the size of his forearm, and used the edge of the axe to hew it open. Another of the stones spilled out, as well as a similar stone that shined intensely in the light. He realized that the lizard must eat the stones and the minerals within were what gave its scales the wondrous sheen they held.

The Pilgrim stored the stones within the Darksign, leaving the lizard's body. He felt somewhat bad about butchering the small animal, but figured in a land such as this there were far worse fates it could have encountered. Satisfied that nothing was left in the tower of note, he made his way through the fog gate.

The battlements were on the other side, though he was dismayed when a quick glance showed him he was a story higher than the drake's bridge. He thought of turning back and finding another way, but to his surprise the fog gate remained in place. They'd always dissipated when he'd passed through them in the past, but this one actually seemed to have grown even more shrouded in the strange fog. He touched it with his hand, surprised when it stopped. He pushed and his hand sank into the fog with difficulty, trapping his hand inside when he couldn't push any further. He yanked heavily and managed to free himself.

With a sigh, he continued across the battlements to the next tower, hoping it would lead him to an exit at the lower level. It appeared the rules in this place were ever in flux, and he'd have to make do with what he had. He was halfway across the battlements when he spotted movement atop the tower ahead of him.

"Too big to be a lizard this time..." he said to himself, drawing the axe.

A large creature that looked like a cross between a bull and a man stood fully atop the tower, its gaze fixed on the Pilgrim. As it stood, the Pilgrim groaned in agony as a crossbow bolt sprouted from the right side of his chest, causing his arm to go numb and nearly causing him to drop the axe. Whirling around, he was just fast enough to dodge another bolt. Two hollows stood atop the tower he'd just come from, reloading their weapons. The battlements shook and the Pilgrim turned to see the bull demon had jumped from the tower. It howled a battle cry and charged him with a gigantic, primitive looking axe.

The Pilgrim scowled at the situation, returning the axe to his belt and retreating back toward the tower he'd come from. He braced himself, snapping the bolt in his chest and pulling it out the back. He took a quick swig from his flask as well, healing the wound and freeing his arm for purposeful use again. Unable to go back through the gate and unwilling to corner himself, he sprang toward the ladder next to the entryway and scrambled up the ladder as fast as possible. He was nearly at the top when he felt the tower shake violently, almost causing him to lose his grip. Judging by the dust he saw fly from between the mortar he assumed the bull demon had attacked the tower, possibly aiming for him although he wasn't about to turn and find out.

One of the hollows was waiting for him with sword drawn at the top of the tower. Mustering his strength, he lunged up the remaining few rungs all at once, grabbing both the top rung and the hollow's leg as it tried to stab him. He yanked on its leg, throwing it off balance so that the stab that should have killed him merely grazed his arm instead. Gritting his teeth, he redoubled the strength behind his pull and sent the hollow falling off the tower.

Before it could hit the ground, the bull demon grabbed hold of it. The Pilgrim heard the sound of bone snapping as the demon tightened its grip and tossed the hollow over the ramparts. The body sailed above the city below, dropping rapidly out of sight.

Hoisting himself onto the tower, the Pilgrim drew the axe and met the remaining hollow head on. It evidently hadn't expected him to deal with its partner so quickly, and was just pulling out its sword as the Pilgrim reached it. The hollow fell back, avoiding a swipe of the axe and stabbed at the Pilgrim in retaliation. Bringing up his shield, he bit back a curse as the hollow's blade pierced through the dented metal and into his arm behind the shield.

Fighting back the pain, he wrenched his arm and with it the hollow's sword. The Pilgrim buried the axe in the hollow's shoulder and it crumpled to the ground. Dropping the axe, he grabbed the sword and removed it from his arm with a sharp tug. He took another breath from the flask, acutely aware that there couldn't be enough for more than one more use left inside.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, the Pilgrim was somewhat relieved to see that the next tower led straight to the bridge. His examination was cut short as the demon's massive form blocked his view, landing on top of the tower with a tremendous crash.

"Gimme a break..." The Pilgrim sighed, sliding the sword into his sheath. It fit somewhat loosely, but it was snug enough that it wouldn't fall out. The Pilgrim picked up the axe and dashed forward, straight under the roaring demon's legs and dove off the tower.

The distance to the ground was slightly more than he'd anticipated, but he managed to tuck into a ball and roll upon impact. Hitting the ground knocked the wind out of him, but he was on his feet and running in seconds. The demon roared its outrage behind him, landing on the battlements again and charging toward him. Upon reaching the other tower, which also had a fog gate blocking its doorway, the Pilgrim turned to face the rabid beast that was charging toward him even now.

The demon stopped suddenly, hoisting the axe above its head and leaping toward the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim ran backwards, almost getting knocked off his feet when the axe crashed into the ground behind him. He turned quickly on his heels, rushing back toward the demon with the axe poised to strike. He slammed the axe into its leg, which he found had flesh thick enough to absorb most of the blow. Nevertheless, he hacked at it twice more before the demon raised its leg and tried to stomp on him. Diving to the side he managed to barely avoid the attack, and landed one more blow of his own.

A smile crept onto his face as he noticed blood begin to seep from the wound; he had finally cut through its thick hide. With renewed ferocity, he began his assault anew. Suddenly, the demon jumped back and brought the handle of the axe down. The Pilgrim tried to dodge, and succeeded in not being crushed outright, however some of the rocks and dust that erupted from the handle's impact blinded him momentarily. The beast picked him up while he was trying to clear his vision, and hurled him at the tower with a cry of victory.

The collision rocked the Pilgrim to his core, dulling the sensation of everything around him besides the pain. He didn't feel himself hit the ground, but he knew he must have for the sensation of falling ceased. He fumbled for the flask, slowly bringing it to his lips and breathing in. The strange feeling of his body repairing itself suffused him, restoring his strength. He wasn't one hundred percent to be sure, but he was no longer dying.

The demon seemed to believe him dead, standing over him and bellowing its triumph to the world. He'd have to be quick...

In a burst of energy, the Pilgrim leaped to his feet and recovered the fallen axe. Before the demon could react, he maneuvered himself behind it and, summoning his strength, managed to bury the axe in its heel. The demon shrieked in rage and pain, reaching for him again, but this time the Pilgrim made his escape. Running was painful, but the alternative...

The demon tried to turn, but wasn't able to support itself on the wounded leg and stumbled momentarily as it compensated. The Pilgrim didn't turn to look back at the beast; he was making for the tower ladder once more. He didn't think it would be able to jump up there again with its wound. He would be cornered of course and had no doubt that it could bring the tower down given enough time, but it would give him a moment to think.

The ground directly behind him exploded as the axe came down, knocking him off his feet. He tried to pull himself up and keep going, but the demon slid the axe toward him, severely injuring his right leg and pushing him out of range of the axe. The Pilgrim pushed himself back onto his feet. His leg screamed in agony, but he forced himself toward the tower. Sparing a glance toward the demon, he saw that it was still coming after him and closing quickly now that they were both injured.

The Pilgrim made it to the ladder only moments ahead of the demon. He grabbed hold of the metal bars and began climbing as fast as his injury would allow. The demon roared its challenge, hoisting its axe and preparing to crush the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim slowed himself at the last moment, and the axe smashed into the tower above him. He braced himself on his good leg and shielded his eyes with his arm, though a large piece of debris still collided with his head and dented his helmet.

The Pilgrim shook his head in an attempt to stop the ringing that now clamored in his ears and began climbing hastily once more. The tower shook once more, but this time the impact was from behind him. Chancing a look back, the Pilgrim saw that he was out of the demon's reach. With a sigh of relief he made his way up the remainder of the ladder.

When he got to the top, he knew he had to think fast. It was only a matter of time before the demon jumped up. Climbing down the ladder was out of the question, the demon would crush him before he was halfway down and even if he did make it down he'd be cornered. Jumping again was similarly eliminated. He'd never clear the demon and if he did his leg would definitely give. His only option was to take the demon out now.

He withdrew the knight's massive sword from the Darksign, having more difficulty than usual hefting it due to his leg. He walked over to the ledge just as the demon was about to jump, but when it saw him it seemed to fly into a rage. It swung the axe into the tower with tremendous force, causing the stones to finally give way. The tower heaved forward, and the Pilgrim knew this would be his only chance. He flung himself from the tower, sword in front of him and aimed at the demon's head.

The demon couldn't bring its axe up fast enough, so instead it swung its left hand at the Pilgrim as if to swat him away. The Pilgrim was moving fast enough to avoid being batted out over the city, but he still took a heavy blow to the side. The demon however, was not so lucky. The sword pierced through its skull and it stopped moving all at once. The axe dropped from its limp grip and it swayed to one side, tipping over the edge.

The Pilgrim stored the sword back within the Darksign, and leapt from the demon's head. If his leg weren't crippled, he would have easily made the jump. As things were, he barely managed to grab onto the battlements. His grip was failing quickly, and he knew he would fall to his death. Just as his grip was about to give however, the souls that the demon had acquired flooded into the Pilgrim. While it didn't make him any stronger physically, the euphoric boost of adrenaline gave him just enough drive to pull himself up and hook his chest on the battlement.

Utterly drained, the Pilgrim rolled forward off the battlement and laid upon the ground staring at the night sky. Exhaustion overcame him and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	10. Staring at the Sun

The Pilgrim opened his eyes slowly, the morning sun blinding him for a moment. Suddenly he sat bolt upright, realizing that the last memories he had were of nighttime. A quick glance revealed nothing hostile in his immediate area. He got to his feet stiffly, the battle having taken its toll upon him. After stretching a bit to loosen his muscles the Pilgrim searched his person to ensure he hadn't been robbed of anything in his slumber.

Finding everything in place he silently chided himself for having been so careless and proceeded on toward the next tower. The fog had lifted from the door, allowing easy passage, and the Pilgrim descended the stairs inside. The staircase led out underneath the ramparts, and the Pilgrim could see the gate that the drake had been dozing on the previous day. Beyond the gate, the cathedral awaited him in the distance, shining like Anor Londo itself in the morning sun.

He was about to proceed toward the gate when he saw a person standing on a balcony to his right. The Pilgrim warily walked toward the man, unable to tell if it was a hollow or not. Silently drawing the longsword from his sheath, he stalked up closer to the man. Upon closer inspection, he began to believe he could have sprinted next to the man banging his sword and shield together and not drawn his attention.

The man was standing at the edge of the balcony, overlooking the mountains of Lordran, though his head was tilted up toward the rising sun. The Pilgrim crept closer to the man, noting his armor as ornate to say the least.

A bucket shaped helm adorned with a red feather on top hid his entire head. Pauldrons with some form of green fur made his shoulders appear to be sprouting bushes. A white tunic emblazoned with an emblem of the sun covered a well built suit of armor, and a shield bearing the same motif was slung on his back.

If this was a hollow, he'd eat his sword. The big one. "Hail warrior!" He called out, sheathing his blade and making toward him.

The man didn't seem to hear him, his gaze still turned intently skyward. The Pilgrim walked closer and tapped the man on the shoulder. He jumped slightly, putting a hand on his blade and turning to see the Pilgrim. "I mean you no harm, I come bearing greetings." The Pilgrim said calmly, putting his hands up.

"Ah, hello! You don't look hollow, far from it! I am Solaire of Astora, an adherent of the Lord of Sunlight." He said, relaxing noticeably.

"Nice to meet you. I'm..." the Pilgrim said, stopping short. He had forgotten that he didn't have a name to go by. The knight tilted his head and he realized he'd been lost in thought. "On a journey, at any rate. What brings you to this cursed land?" He finished awkwardly.

"Cursed?" He said quizzically, laughing afterward. "It has fallen on hard times of late, to be certain, but I do not believe it cursed. Now that I am undead, I have come to this great land, the birthplace of Lord Gwyn, to seek my very own sun!"

The Pilgrim couldn't help but look perplexed. His own...sun?

"...Do you find that strange?" The knight asked, looking away.

"Admittedly, slightly. It's just difficult to wrap one's mind around."

"Well, you should! No need to hide your reaction. I get that look all the time. Hah hah hah!" He replied jovially, though the Pilgrim suspected he'd offended the man.

"Oh no, I had no intention of besmirching your quest. I only meant that it is somewhat vague." The Pilgrim quickly amended.

"Oh, ah hah! So I didn't scare you?" He laughed.

"Hardly... My own quest is somewhat strange in hindsight as well. You see I've been tasked by a man who saved my life at the cost of his own to ring two bells..."

"Ah, yes. The Bells of Awakening, a noble quest indeed. You seek the destiny of the Chosen Undead then? A task befitting the Great Lord Gwyn himself, no small task to be sure!" The knight said cheerfully.

"I...yes, I suppose so. To be perfectly honest, I've no idea what I've gotten myself into. I only wish to honor the dying request of the man who gave me my life back." The Pilgrim replied, slightly bewildered.

"Oh dear, you mean you know nothing of the Chosen Undead and their journey?"

The Pilgrim hesitated a moment. "No, I don't. I just know that I am to ring the Bells of Awakening. What more is there to know?"

The knight shrugged. "Well, nevermind that. I don't really think it's my place to speak of such things. If it is to be your destiny, then I am sure you will learn of it in time. Incidentally your journey is sure to be wrought with danger. I have a proposition, if you have a moment."

The Pilgrim nodded. "Indeed, a friendly face is a welcome sight in this place. I've plenty of time for any friends I meet. What's on your mind?"

"An echoing of my own sentiments! The way I see it, our fates appear to be intertwined. In a land brimming with hollows, could that really be mere chance?" The knight replied.

The Pilgrim had his reservations, fates intertwined? He kept silent though and merely listened.

"So what do you say? Why not help one another on this lonely journey?" Solaire asked, extending his hand toward the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim shook his hand warmly. "Absolutely, I can see no reason to disagree!"

"This pleases me greatly! Well then, take this." Solaire responded enthusiastically, handing the Pilgrim a small white stone.

"Um, thank you? Well, shall we continue on then?" The Pilgrim asked, confusion evident.

Solaire chuckled softly. "I'm afraid that's impossible, my friend. For I am anchored here, as you are anchored in your own world." The Pilgrim's face caused Solaire to laugh aloud. "Oh dear, I apologize. I do not mean to mock you, allow me to explain. We are amidst strange beings, in a strange land. The flow of time itself is convoluted, with heroes centuries old phasing in and out. The very fabric wavers and relations shift and obscure. There's no telling how much longer your world and mine will remain in contact. Do you understand?"

"I have seen shades that seemed locked in combat occasionally, though I had thought it only my imagination and exhaustion. You're saying we aren't even from the same time period?" He asked, making an effort to grasp the situation.

Solaire shook his head. "Nevermind, it matters little. Understanding it isn't necessary, but use this..." He said, gesturing to the stone he'd given the Pilgrim. "To summon one another as spirits, cross the gaps between the worlds, and engage in jolly co-operation!"

The Pilgrim gave his strange new companion a questioning glance. "And you learned all this on your own?"

Solaire laughed, but there was no humor behind it. "I have certainly had a long enough time to learn it, but no I learned from another adventurer such as ourselves."

"There's another who has learned these secrets?" The Pilgrim asked, surprised that anyone could make such a discovery.

"Of course. There are many, we are not the only ones engaged in this. Not all of them are as honorable as we two either; many would stab you in the back for the humanity you possess."

"And how am I to prevent such a fate from befalling me? I face adversaries on all sides already."

"Ah, but you forget. I am a warrior of the sun! Spot my summon signature easily by its brilliant aura. If you miss it, you must be blind! Hah hah hah!" Solaire responded, laughing heartily at his own joke.

The Pilgrim smiled as well despite himself. When Solaire began to catch his breath, the Pilgrim asked, "Summon...Signature? I'm afraid you've lost me..."

Solaire nodded sagely. "Yes, I was confused at first as well. I think it would be easier for you to try it for yourself, it will explain things much better than I could."

The Pilgrim stared at the stone, unsure of what he was supposed to do. "Oh no, it will be quite useless as you are now. A human will have little ability to use such a stone, but one who is near hollow will find it much easier." Solaire said, answering the question that wasn't asked.

"Yet you can use it as you are now?" The Pilgrim said incredulously.

"Ah, but I am a special case. You see it is my duty as a Knight of the Sun to help those in need!"

"I see. Well, thank you for your assistance. May we meet again." The Pilgrim said with a slight bow, turning back toward the gate.

"I believe we shall. Best of luck to you, friend." Solaire responded, looking back toward the sky.

The Pilgrim headed out onto the ramparts. Several hollows had wandered onto the path, and turned toward him as he headed down the path. The Pilgrim began to draw his sword, but an ear piercing screech stopped him. He looked in the direction the sound had come from, and was dismayed to see the drake flying above, staring down at the bridge. It only took him a moment to realize it was flying around behind him. It would cut off his escape, ensuring his death. His only escape was a staircase set into the rampart, leading to another lower level.

Leaving his sword sheathed, the Pilgrim sprinted forward, shoving any hollows out of his way. He glanced back, expecting to see the drake landing, but was instead greeted by the sight of flame pouring from its mouth as it remained safely aloft. He looked back ahead and made a split second decision, diving at the staircase.

The flames got close enough to singe some of his hairs, but the moment he flew into the relative safety of the stairway he put the roof between himself and the flames. He could hear the hollows moaning in agony outside, and felt it as the drake landed. It raged above, indignant that its prey had escaped. The Pilgrim scanned the room, weighing his options.

One of the two doors in the room led underneath the path he'd just been on, and he had no desire to put himself back within the drake's reach. The other led down another staircase, and seemed oddly familiar to him. The Pilgrim headed down the stairs, hearing the sound of the drake scratching at the top of the previous stairs behind him.

The moment he was through the door, it became apparent why it looked familiar. This was the room in which he'd nearly been killed by the hollow, and where he'd reformed when the knight had killed him. He remembered the ladder that he couldn't dislodge, and was ecstatic to find that he was indeed upon the landing it led to. Heading down to the ladder, he saw that the latch was not only secured, but rusted shut with age. The ladder itself seemed to have escaped the worst of the elements however, still appearing perfectly usable. All it would take is a solid kick to dislodge it...

Bracing himself against the wall, the Pilgrim kicked out at the latch, a satisfying clang followed by the ladder falling down marking his success. He climbed onto the ladder, descending as fast as he could. When he reached the bottom, he shut the gate completely seeing as he no longer required it to leave and it was only another entrance for hollows when open.

Sitting next to the bonfire, the Pilgrim silently reflected on his accomplishments so far as the drake continued to rage above.


	11. Into the Parish

The drake's rage subsided within a few minutes, but the Pilgrim wasn't taking any chances. He stayed by the fire, remembering the method to strengthen his soul. Feeding the souls he'd gathered to the flame, he felt the giddy energy the souls provided subside as it was replaced with the more subtle strengthening of his body.

Out of curiosity, he retrieved the knight's sword from the Darksign. It was somewhat easier to lift, especially if he freed up both hands, although he was unable able to wield it easily otherwise. He shook his head as he returned the blade.

Here he was, supernaturally strengthening himself and slaying monsters that towered above him, living the very tales people told their children to inspire them to greatness.

It all seemed so surreal. Somewhere else in the world people were going about their daily lives, toiling to grow enough food to live on. Their tasks difficult, but they usually knew what they had to do to move forward. Yet here he was chasing fantastic stories of gods and heroes, each step in his journey a mystery unto itself.

He was jealous of those people and their simple lives. A pitiful life it may be, but it was a life they had control of, and it would eventually end. Even if he failed, it seemed the Darksign would offer him no rest. He would return again and again, remembering less and less of himself, and it terrified him. What would he do if he ended up hollow? Would he be conscious of his actions? Or would he be a mindless husk, doomed to wander?

He sunk deeper into his thoughts, losing track of time. A loud thud next to him snapped him out of it. It was a hollow, severely burned and apparently seeking to harm him.

"You must have survived the drake's fire. Poor creature..." He said as he drew his sword.

The hollow unleashed a pained growl, making a halfhearted attempt to stand, but falling back to the ground. The fall had nearly killed it, not to mention the burns. The Pilgrim slew it in one thrust, muttering an apology.

It had dawned on him as he was thinking that these hollows were once men too, and may still be somewhere deep within. He wiped the blood off the blade and refilled his estus flask, eager to put the scene behind him. He ascended the ladder with haste, taking the lower doorway rather than risk walking back into the drake's line of sight.

The walkway under the rampart wasn't built to be traversed, likely more useful for maintenance. He had to press against the wall at points and carefully slide along to prevent himself from falling into the valley below. In the distance he could barely make out another walled city. Grand spires peeked over the top of the ornate wall, and in the morning sun it was a breathtaking sight. Whatever material they were made from shimmered in the light and gave the illusion that the city within glowed with a radiance that rivaled even the sun.

He was so busy examining the city that he failed to notice the hollow wandering on the other side of a support and ran into it as he came around. Both the Pilgrim and the hollow were taken off guard, but the Pilgrim recovered first. Drawing the sword from its sheathe, he cut the hollow down in one swipe. He traversed the remainder of the way with far more caution, but encountered no more trouble. It didn't take him long to figure out where the drake had gone. Its tail draped lazily over the side of the rampart, he assumed it was resting above the gate once more.

As it was he got a far better look at the blade lodged in its tail, a truly powerful looking weapon. It was driven nearly to the hilt into the drake's tail, meaning someone must have tried to kill it in the past. He certainly didn't feel the need to try, and silently contemplated the owner of the sword's evident fate.

When he reached the end of the walkway, he discovered another hollow waiting for him on a narrow path, a doorway into the parish proper behind it. It wielded a large shield and spear, merely holding its ground and blocking his way forward. Try as he might, the Pilgrim couldn't goad the hollow into chasing him to the more open walkway.

If he got too close the hollow would jab at him with its spear, which far out ranged the Pilgrim's sword. His shield was in no state to block the attacks, so instead he just dodged around them. He found it much easier to predict what it was going to do next than he'd previously been able to. Another aspect of the soul strengthening perhaps?

When he was finally fed up with the hollow's games, he baited it into attacking and grabbed the spear once it was within reach. It reacted with shock, attempting to yank the spear back, but the Pilgrim held fast. Digging his feet into the masonry as best he could, the Pilgrim pivoted and sent the hollow tumbling into the valley below. He had meant to knock it to the ground and take the shield, rusted though it was, but that opportunity was lost. With a sigh, the Pilgrim moved on into the interior of the parish.

The first thing he noticed was that it was dark, though he could see the light of torches in a small alcove ahead. He headed toward the light, but stopped when he heard a shuffling to his right. He brought his sword up just in time to stab the rat that lunged at him from the shadows. The thing was the size of a large dog, and smelled like rotting corpses. He let planted his foot on it to remove his blade, and the second rat caught him completely unaware.

It lunged at him and knocked him off his feet, the sword still stuck in the first one. He managed to stop it from biting him, although it did leave a large gash on his leg with its claws. The wound stung fiercely, and the Pilgrim suspected that the fetid rat's claws were foul enough to be poisonous.

With great effort, he shoved the rat off of himself and spotted yet another moving in from the far side of the room. Cursing under his breath he hurried back and grabbed his sword, wrenching it free as he ran past. The rats surrounded him, hissing and circling. The Pilgrim tried to remain calm, keeping himself still and trying to anticipate their next move. One of the rats suddenly jumped at him, the other moving in as soon as it noticed what its cohort was up to.

The Pilgrim slashed at the jumping rat, slaying the beast, but he was too slow to dodge the other. It managed to close on him and clamped its jaws on his leg. The rat's teeth caused an even greater burning than the claws, and he could feel it spreading throughout his whole body. Definitely poison then...

He ran the rat through and pried it from his leg, collapsing to the floor and pulling his estus flask from his hip. He took a long draught and felt relief flow through him as his wounds closed. The burning sensation throughout his whole body returned almost immediately however. It seemed the injuries caused by it would heal, but the poison itself remained in his body.

He got to his feet unsteadily, fighting against the worsening pain that the poison caused. He contemplated returning to the bonfire, but he didn't want to risk the drake spotting him. He went toward the torchlit alcove, seeing that a ladder led back up to ground level. He climbed up and found himself at the bottom of a guard tower, which connected directly to the gate the drake was sleeping on. He headed outside, and deeper into the parish.

He went straight toward the cathedral, cutting down a few hollows on his way despite the poison coursing through him. He fell into a pattern where fought the pain until it was absolutely unbearable, then healed himself with the estus in the flask. It was a vicious cycle, and seriously put a dent in his precious estus, but he could actually feel the poison weakening.

He was so close to the cathedral that the gargoyles atop its roof were plainly visible in all their exquisite detail. They looked terribly fierce, as though they would actually be capable of coming to life and defending the bell tower upon which they were set. Coming around the final corner, the Pilgrim groaned inwardly and fell back out of sight. A huge gate blocked his way to the cathedral, and the courtyard in front of it was swarming with hollows. The thing that worried him the most however was the giant armored boar that the hollows were fighting.

Actually, fighting was the wrong word. They were throwing themselves at it, and it merrily trampled and tossed them in return. Several hollows had the advantage of high ground, slowly firing arrows at the beast which clattered uselessly off of its thick armor plating. The boar finished off the hollows on the ground and paced back and forth, grunting in fury at the hollows above as they continued assaulting it with arrows.

The Pilgrim tried to come up with a plan. The boar's underside seemed unprotected, although it was so low to the ground that it would be impossible to exploit unless it toppled. It seemed his only option would be to flee, although he didn't know how he could outrun the beast, especially considering the poison. Perhaps if he snuck up on the archers he could use them as a distraction and make a break to try to enter the lower levels of the parish? It was worth a shot.

He rounded the corner, staying out of sight of the boar. He entered a recessed stairway that led up toward the archers and around the boar, but as soon as he got to the top a hollow who had been standing aside watching the events below spotted him and raised a large shield. The hollow charged at him with the shield raised, but the Pilgrim sidestepped and lashed out with a vicious kick. The hollow sailed over the waist high wall, landing with a thud which drew the boar's attention. As the Pilgrim turned around an arrow pierced his shoulder, and he reflexively brought up his shield. The second arrow punched straight through the destroyed metal and into his arm. He crouched behind the wall for cover to think a moment.

Below he heard the boar decimate the hollow he'd kicked. He pulled the arrows from his body and stood up. Sprinting toward the archers as fast as he could, he managed to close on them before they could switch to their swords. He cut down the first, but grabbed the second and restrained him. The hollow jerked and twisted, howling its frustration at the Pilgrim, but he held fast. When the boar was underneath them, he tossed the hollow over the edge and got ready to run.

The hollow never hit the ground. The boar gored him as he fell, where he stuck fast to the armored tusk. The Pilgrim hadn't leapt yet, and he heard what happened. Turning to look, he saw that the boar's attention was still fixed on him, despite the victim still writhing right in front of it. The Pilgrim averted his gaze, somewhat off put by the sight. "That went differently in my mind..." He said aloud, sizing up the situation.

He was well and truly trapped now, the boar would wait him out and there was nowhere to go but back down. No matter which exit he took, the boar would overtake him. As he was mulling his options, something to his right caught his eye. A body was lying on the ground, a skull clutched tightly in its hands. It was no ordinary skull however, as it glowed with its own faint light, light which drew the Pilgrim toward it. He walked over and took a closer look.

There was no mistaking it, the skull had the feel of souls to it. The energy seemed to be coming from within the skull, rather than the skull itself. It was as if it were a container for the last remnants of its owner's power. He walked over and pried it from the corpse's hands. Just holding it made him feel somewhat giddy, and he contemplated taking it for himself. Then he noticed the boar was watching him, or rather the skull, and realized he had chanced upon his key out of here.

He aimed for the area he had come from and hurled the skull as far as he could. Surprisingly it shattered like glass upon hitting the stones and flared with soul energy, although it faded rapidly. The boar turned with an angry squeal, charging the area where the skull had landed. The Pilgrim didn't waste any time, he jumped down toward the parish and ran. He heard the boar turn around and head after him a moment later.

A staircase led down beside the gate, and he descended as fast as possible, hearing the boar closing in. Just as he was sure it would overtake him, he heard it misstep and fall heavily down the stairs just behind him. He felt the ground shake as it fell, and the precious seconds it took the beast to recover gave him the lead he needed.

A simple doorway waited ahead, leading into the basement of the cathedral. More important than where it led however, was that it was solid and much too small for the boar to fit through. The Pilgrim rushed inside, barreling into a simply dressed hollow and sending both of them to the ground. A moment later the entire room shuddered as the boar crashed into the doorway. It shook its head, regaining its senses and bellowing into the doorway.  
>The Pilgrim slew the feeble hollow as it attempted to grab at him. He sat up and caught his breath, locking eyes with the boar outside. The boar rammed into the doorway once more, sending another shower of dust from the rafters, before turning with a snort and walking away.<p>

His victory was short lived however, as a hollow fell from the sky and landed on top of him. The Pilgrim laid upon the floor stunned as the hollow recovered and began feverishly bludgeoning him with a chair leg, although the emaciated hollow inflicted only superficial damage at best. The Pilgrim quickly came to his senses, shoving his assailant off and drawing his sword just in time to have another hollow land next to him.

He belted the newcomer in the head with the hilt of his sword and turned his attention back to his original foe. He saw several more hollows sprinting down a staircase to his right, and heard still more clamoring above. If they swarmed him, they'd tear him apart no matter how weak they were.

The hollow surged toward him, making no attempt to defend itself. Evidently they were operating on pure rage, not intelligence. The sheer amount of them, combined with their lack of armor or weapons, suggested that this was where a portion of the town may have taken refuge. He could see several hollows didn't even bother with the stairs, merely running into open space and falling as the two near him must have. They normally stood back up, but a few remained motionless, unconscious or otherwise.

It seemed it was time to make a decision. Back outside to face down the boar and attempt to find another entrance, or run straight into a horde of enraged hollows. The Pilgrim took a deep breath, cut down the advancing hollow, and made for the stairs. The first wave of hollows rushed at him, and he quickly found that fighting was the wrong option.

Every swing of his weapon felled a hollow with certainty, but the time it took him to recover was costly. Several hollows grabbed onto his blade after a particularly wide swing, slicing open their hands in the process, but their obliviousness to their pain allowed them to invoke a tug of war for the weapon. Hands grasped and tugged at his armor as he wrenched the blade free, lashing out with his shield to give himself room to move.

He rushed into them, freeing himself and knocking many of the emaciated hollows to the ground, causing them to topple down the stairs into their allies like dominoes. Glancing up, he guessed the stairs led to the outer buildings of the parish rather than the cathedral proper, but that didn't concern him at the moment. He just needed to get to a place where he could lose the horde chasing him.

He kept at it, ascending the next staircase and into the advancing hollows, fighting against them to get through. Several of them latched onto his shield, forcing him to shed the maimed object to continue before he was overwhelmed. He got to the top of the stairs and found a dilapidated ladder leading up to a small walkway and a door leading outside. He'd barely managed to break through the main body, and looking back he saw there wasn't much time before he was overtaken by the hollows again.

He climbed the ladder hastily, a few hollows reaching the ladder on his heels and climbing after him. The ancient ladder groaned in protest as the Pilgrim made a mad dash toward the top, with more and more hollows only adding to the weight that pulled at it. Upon reaching the top he buried his sword into the dry wood. The ladder splintered, sagging to one side momentarily before snapping under the weight of the hollows pursuing him.

The hollows below shrieked in rage as the broken ladder plummeted. The frenzied hollows began making vain attempts to scale the smooth walls, eager to continue their hunt. The Pilgrim let out a sigh of relief and, after making certain there were no unwanted guests up there with him, slumped against the wall to catch his breath.

It took him a moment to realize he couldn't feel the lingering pain of the poison anymore. He didn't fully understand how he'd gotten over its effects so quickly, though he suspected his curse had something to do with it. Either way, he wasn't about to complain. He had maybe two breaths of estus left if he stretched it, and no shield, for all the good it would have done him in its current state.

He felt confident despite everything though. He was so close to his goal. There would doubtlessly be more challenges in store, but he'd handle it somehow. He rose with a new found vigor, heading out the door and ever closer to the first Bell of Awakening.


	12. The Lion's Den

The Pilgrim walked out onto the wall and peered over the side. The fall was high enough that it would almost certainly kill him, or at the very least force him to use the last of his estus. From his vantage point however, he could see knights wandering about the parish in a dignified manner, or as dignified as a hollow could be. Their armor was much better quality than the others', though still very weathered. It was black and ornate, though not the same as the first black knight he'd seen, and an insignia that he couldn't identify adorned the shredded cloaks they all wore.

He didn't feel particularly up to the task of fighting them, so he hoped he'd be able to avoid them. Past experience warned him otherwise however, and he sorted through how best to take down the imposing figures. He headed around the top of the wall, dodging a few of the hollows on his way. They all appeared to be mumbling to themselves, although he never got close enough to make out what it was they were saying.

The wall was much smaller than the ramparts of the outer wall had been, and it wasn't long before his goal was in sight. A small staircase led away from the wall and into the inner area of the parish. He rounded the corner at the bottom and ran straight into one of the knights. The knight grabbed him with surprising speed, looking down and locking his burning red eyes with the Pilgrim's.

"Humanity..." It growled, reaching for its sword.

The Pilgrim slammed the top of his helmet into the knight's jaw, sending it back a step. He grabbed the gauntleted hand that was restraining him and wrenched it free just in time to avoid the knight's counterattack. The Pilgrim drew his sword as he put some distance between himself and the knight, locking blades with the creature as it charged at him.

The fight was short, but intense. The knight loosed a flurry of blows, each of which the Pilgrim managed to parry or dodge. "We must... Ring... The Bell...!" It shouted in a broken voice as it attacked, bringing its sword down in a particularly fearsome stroke as it finished. The Pilgrim neatly moved aside, burying his blade in the knight and silencing him.

The Pilgrim slowed his breathing, only now realizing how taxing it had been to match swords with the knight. His strength had been unreal, the Pilgrim knew he wouldn't have been able to stand his ground without the strength he'd gained from the bonfires. His thoughts were interrupted by another knight moving around the corner behind him.

"Here!" It shouted, drawing a rapier and heading toward the Pilgrim.

"Break's over..." The Pilgrim muttered as he moved forward. He quickly outpaced the knight, whose heavier armor and advancing hollowing slowed him considerably. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one giving chase. His shout had apparently been directed at several of his allies, as four more knights trailed a short distance behind him.

The Pilgrim pressed on, actively attempting to avoid the cathedral. He'd seen quite a few more knights wandering there, and being surrounded would almost certainly get him killed. The paths merged as he went on however, leading into the side of the parish, just beneath the bell tower. Several of the lesser hollows milled about the area, drawing swords as they saw the Pilgrim dashing toward them. It was child's play to defeat them however, even without a shield. Behind him, the Pilgrim now counted at least ten of the knights following him. He had no retreat.

A large doorway leading into the parish beckoned to him, the goal he'd fought towards lurking just inside. Directly across from the doorway, the top floor of a tower stood at the end of a bridge. It led away from the chapel, but for now it seemed his only option. At the very least he could funnel his enemies with the stairs that were surely inside.

The Pilgrim turned toward the bridge, staying just ahead of the pursuing knights. If the tower led to a dead end, he didn't stand a chance. It was far too late to worry about that now however. Inside the tower was the remains of several pews and an altar of some sort. Perhaps a smaller shrine for those who were denied access to the parish proper? Casting the thought from his mind, the Pilgrim spied a staircase in the corner leading down.

As he reached the staircase, he heard a strange noise. It was distant, but he was certain he heard the sound of metal striking metal. Was someone else down there fighting the hollows as well? He had no idea who it could be, but any help at the moment would certainly increase his odds of survival. He descended the flights of stairs, the sound of the knights above and the rhythmic sound of metal clanging below. He quickly decided it wasn't the sound of battle, it was too predictable.  
>He reached what he assumed was midway down the tower, and was surprised to find a floor with an unlit bonfire and a doorway leading out to another bridge. The bridge however appeared to lead only to a massive closed gate, which was decidedly too large for him to open by himself, and that was assuming the mechanism to open it was even on this side. He left the bonfire and the doorway behind, descending further.<p>

As he did so, the clanging below ceased. A voice that sounded like it was pushing its way through gravel called up, "What's all that noise up there? Has friend or foe come calling at my forge?"

"If you count hollows your enemy, then count me as a friend. However, I bring a group of foes in my stead!" The Pilgrim called down.

"Mmm... You adventuring types always have trouble nipping on your heels. Head down and I'll lend my hammer to your cause." The voice replied.

The Pilgrim descended to the bottom floor, finding the voice's owner. It was a brute of a man, his muscles almost as thick as the Pilgrim's torso. The man's white hair brought images of a lion to mind, a mane which nearly engulfed his entire head and merged with an equally massive beard that went halfway down his bare chest.

"If you'd kindly signal me when they come?" The smith said, hefting his hammer and standing beside the doorway out of sight. The Pilgrim nodded, gripping his sword in both hands and awaiting the knights.

He didn't have to wait long. The knights rounded the final corner and saw the Pilgrim standing defiantly at the bottom. One rushed forward with its sword held high, several more knights following close behind.

"Now!" The Pilgrim signaled. The smith grunted and swung his hammer in a mighty horizontal arc. The knight never knew what hit it. The hollow's helmet caved with a sound like a bell stuffed with fruit, and it fell lifelessly to the ground. The two knights following it were unable to stop in time and tripped over its corpse, falling heavily to the ground. The Pilgrim made short work of them with two well placed thrusts.

"Back!" The remaining knights called out, retreating up the staircase. The Pilgrim hesitated, unsure if he should give chase, but the lion man charged up the stairs after the knights. The Pilgrim followed suit, fearing for the smith's safety. His concern was unwarranted however, as he watched in awe as the smith charged into the confused knights and scattered them like ninepins. He had no armor, indeed he didn't seem to need it as he knocked aside or shattered the knights' blades with ease. The Pilgrim lent his aid to the man, protecting his flank as necessary and generally staying out of the way of his deadly hammer.

The smith's ferocity quickly turned the tide of battle, and he felled four of the knights within a minute. The Pilgrim also managed to defeat one of the hollows as it tried to rush the smith from the side. The three remaining hollows fled back up the stairs and the Pilgrim made to pursue them, but was stopped by a massive hand on his shoulder. The smith shook his head. "Let them go. They'll not bother us again."

"But won't they rally and come back after us?" The Pilgrim protested.

"No, they aren't that smart. They possess only the barest hint of the intelligence of men. Enough to reason and fight, but not enough to plan and strategize." The smith replied, descending the stairs once again.

The Pilgrim had his doubts, but decided the smith must know what he was talking about if he was so willing to turn away. "As you say. I must thank you for your help, I may have perished. How might I repay your valor?"

The smith bellowed with laughter. "You act as if I'm some mighty hero. I'm just a simple smith, albeit one of much talent. If you require smithing, then speak to me."

The Pilgrim frowned. "I'm afraid I don't have any money..."

The smith redoubled his laughter, and the Pilgrim swore the very building shook as his voice boomed within. "Hah hah hah! Well, you must be a new arrival here in Lordran, eh? We don't barter with money 'round here. Look about you, who's left to spend it? No, we trade in souls in this land."

"I've heard that before actually, although the source was... Of dubious quality, to say the least. How do I transfer them to you?"

The smith chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Come, I'll teach you. I'm Andre, of Astora by the way." He said, reaching his forge once more and sitting at a seat behind an anvil.

"A pleasure to meet you, although I'm afraid I've no name to give you." The Pilgrim responded absently, somewhat taken aback by the smith's workspace now that he got a proper look at it. All manner of armaments adorned the small room. Shields lined the wall, with pikes and spears leaned against them. Swords with intricate sheathes were piled carefully in a corner, and all manner of other weapons were placed carefully about the small room. The Pilgrim was startled by the sound of metal on metal as Andre continued his labor.

The smith didn't press the Pilgrim further, focusing intently on his work. The Pilgrim examined the armaments closer, finding a sword he was particularly fond of. The blade was just the right weight, and fit nicely in his hand. He brought it before the smith, waiting patiently as blow after blow of the hammer shaped the metal beneath it. After a few minutes, the smith quickly moved the metal into a barrel of water. The metal hissed as the water cooled it, and it was set aside amongst a small pile of other incomplete projects.

"Ah, found a weapon to your liking, eh?" He said as he spied the blade in the Pilgrim's hands. "A good eye you have. Let's shake on it then." He said, extending his hand to the Pilgrim.

"Just like that? What of the trading souls?" The Pilgrim asked, perplexed.

"Hah hah hah! It's all part of the deal! Two bodies must make some willing physical contact to exchange souls. When you kill an enemy, the souls they've acquired are forcibly removed. To the victor go the spoils and all, but a trade is different. You have to allow someone to take your souls while you're still alive to keep them yourself, and what better way to seal a deal than a handshake?"

The Pilgrim wasn't sure he quite understood, but he was quickly finding that in this land things operated on a more instinctual level, rather than intellectual. He took the blacksmith's hand and instantly felt another presence within himself. It must have been Andre's soul, but it was surprisingly powerful. He suspected if he were ever to get on Andre's bad side he'd be extremely hard pressed to defeat the man.

Andre looked at him and shrugged. "You don't have nearly enough souls to get me to part with that. It's special you see, forged with a material called Titanite. Legend has it the material was used by the gods themselves to forge their weapons. You'll find shards of it about Lordran, they vary in size and quality." He said, pulling out a small stone very similar to the ones the Pilgrim had found on the knight and lizard.

The Pilgrim retrieved his own shards from the Darksign, deciding that the smith may know if they were the same. As the flames flared in his hand, Andre jumped back a bit. "Oi! Be that some damned pyromancy? Never seen the like of it before."

"Pyromancy? I've no idea what that is, but perhaps it could be? This brand on my finger, the Darksign, apparently allows me to store items until I have need of them."  
>"Aye, I know of the Darksign. It brands all the undead of course, but I've never seen one able to do that."<p>

"Indeed? How strange..." The Pilgrim responded. "At any rate, are these the shards you were speaking of?"

"Why yes, actually. This one however..." He said, picking up the glowing stone. "This is rarer still, extremely high quality. I couldn't use this with just any bit of armor or weapon."

"Would you care to trade the shard for that sword?" The Pilgrim asked, hoping he could change the smith's mind.

"I'm afraid not, but I could forge those shards into that weapon there for the souls you have." Andre replied, pointing to the blade the Pilgrim carried.

"This? It's no special weapon." The Pilgrim responded dejectedly, pulling the blade from the oversize sheath.

"Aye, not yet. Allow me to work with it, you'll see the magic I can weave with metal."

The Pilgrim was momentarily hesitant, but decided the stones were useless to him as they were. He handed them all over to the smith with his sword, but Andre pushed the twinkling stone back to him. "As I said, I couldn't use this on just any weapon."

"But you said you could make this sword into something more powerful." The Pilgrim protested.

"Yes, but it will still be a common weapon. This quality Titanite could only be used on a weapon already peerless, anything else would be a waste of its inherent strength."

The Pilgrim nodded, when an idea suddenly dawned on him. He produced the knight's sword from the darksign, hefting it onto the anvil. "What of this weapon?" He asked.

Andre's eyes widened slightly as he picked up the weapon as if it weighed nothing, turning it slowly and testing the edge with his thumb. "This be a magnificent weapon... Aye, I could use the stone on this to be sure."

The Pilgrim laughed nervously, amazed that the smith could wield the blade so easily. He had strengthened his soul several times now, and still could barely make use of it. Andre took the twinkling Titanite with the rest of them, lying the sword next to him.

"You may as well hand over your armor too, I'll patch it up for you. Best suit of armor in all Lordran wouldn't do you much good if it was fulla holes." He said with a sigh.  
>The Pilgrim had to admit his armor could use the repairs, but without it and his weapons he'd be defenseless. Andre must have sensed his concern, as he chuckled slightly.<p>

"I'll only be about a short while with the task, you can stay here if you like. Won't be any hollows down here to bother you. The weapons won't take long either, you could go speak with that bumbling Sir Onion while you wait for those." He said.

"Sir Onion?"

"Aye, he's a knight from Catarina. Their armor has a very distinct shape to help ward off blows, admittedly a brilliant design, but it looks downright humorous. It doesn't help when someone as daft as him is wearing it either. He's a nice enough sort though, if you've the patience to withstand his ramblings. You'll find him waiting near the gates to Sen's Fortress, if you're so inclined."

The Pilgrim nodded, shedding his armor and remembering he had no clothing, save for the amulet and the remains of what he'd been wearing when he was thrown in the asylum. Sores were beginning to form where the armor straps rubbed against his bare skin, the bonfires and the estus flask had been healing it before he'd ever noticed them. Slightly embarrassed, the Pilgrim removed the armor and set it down in front of the smith.

If Andre found anything odd about the Pilgrim's lack of clothing, he didn't show it. Instead he set to work repairing the armor immediately. It wasn't long before he began talking to the Pilgrim as he worked.

"Most weapons and armor are sturdy indeed, but every hunk of metal has its breaking point. If wear and tear begins taking its toll on your armor, it's time to repair. You can ask a blacksmith like myself, or you can do it on your own. You'll need a smithbox, that I can provide for a price. The nice thing about weapons and armor... They'll never betray you. So pay them a little respect, eh?" He said over the din of the hammer.

"You sell tools that would cost you business? Why should they return to repair or buy new weapons if they can repair their own?" The Pilgrim mused.

"Ah, but if they live to return am I losing business? Besides, I offer services of reinforcement and ascension in addition to repair and weapon sales." Andre said with a chuckle.

"Although, reinforcement is simple. It strengthens the weapon and nothing more. Hell, you could even do it yourself with a smithbox. But ascension is a finer art, it alters a weapon's properties. Ascension is the territory of we blacksmith; a smithbox just won't do the trick." He added as an afterthought.

He didn't resume speaking, and the Pilgrim toyed with the amulet as he let Andre's words sink in. He studied the smith's actions as he repaired his armor, hoping it would make it easier to learn them later if he was already familiar with them. Time slipped by quickly as he did so, and before he knew it Andre was handing his armor back to him.

"Finished. You can stay and watch as I reinforce your weapons too if you like." Andre informed him, immediately beginning work on the longsword.

The Pilgrim retrieved his armor and put it back on, relief washing over him as he felt its cold embrace once more. "I believe I'll stretch my legs, but thank you." Andre didn't reply. There was definitely something to be said about Andre's focus and dedication. The Pilgrim headed up the stairs once more.

He stopped at the bonfire and refilled his flask, gazing out the door at the massive fortress across the bridge. The sheer size of it was huge, it stretched nearly to the top of the nearby mountains. He wondered if you could see into the city of Anor Londo from the highest point. Sitting at the bottom of the gate next to a flight of stairs was an armored man, Sir Onion the Pilgrim guessed. With nothing to do for the moment, the Pilgrim headed across the bridge to talk to the knight.


	13. For Whom the Bell Tolls

The bridge leading to the massive gate was quite small, really only wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The Pilgrim made his way across, gazing down the side of the bridge. He'd cleared the endless chasms that had been the backdrop for any view over the wall in most of the burg, and was now greeted by an equally endless canopy of trees. The trees were quite tall, the tops of them reaching the bridge itself at tallest, with the bottom nowhere in sight. Unsurprising in a land as ancient as this.

The Pilgrim reached the other side and hailed the seated knight, but received no response. His armor indeed made him look like an onion, it was round and fluted. The armor made the man look quite heavyset, although there was no way to know his true body shape underneath. Coming closer to the knight revealed the he was loudly humming at intervals, as if pondering something.

"Excuse me, Sir Knight?" He said as he drew nearby, not wishing to startle the man, who had a large blade strapped to his back. Nearly as large as the black knight's sword, but nowhere near as ornate.

"Mmm... mmm..."

"Um, Sir Onion?"

"Mm? Oh-hoh!" He gasped, leaning back in an almost comical fashion.

"Oh, forgive me. I hadn't intended to startle you." The Pilgrim apologized halfheartedly. This knight certainly lacked perception.

"Oh no, please forgive me! I was absorbed in thought." He said jovially, extending his hand. "I am Siegmeyer of Catarina."

"I am but a Pilgrim, I'm afraid I've no name to give you. Might I ask what you were so focused on? Perhaps I may be of some assistance?"

"Quite honestly I have run flat up against a wall. Or, a gate, I should say. The thing just won't budge. No matter how long I wait. And oh, have I waited!"

"You're just waiting for the gate to open?" The Pilgrim asked.

"Of course, how else will I enter the fortress?" The knight responded, obviously quite confused.

"You could try to open the gate yourself." The Pilgrim suggested, examining the door more closely.

"Oh, I have tried. You see it is simply too heavy for a man to move, even one as large as myself. Hah hah hah!" He said, thumping a hand on his armored stomach.

The Pilgrim saw that the bottom of the gate was nearly melded with the ground, years upon years of weather taking their toll upon the frame. As old as it was though, the gate itself was in remarkable condition. The metal that bound it together was unmarred, and didn't show a hint of warping.

"This gate hasn't opened in years, possibly centuries even. Would you sit here and wait for years?"

"But of course! You see it is my duty to do so. I know the gate will open soon, and when it does I shall be here to gallantly storm the fortress." Siegmeyer responded proudly.

"You... Know? How do you know?" The Pilgrim asked.

"You see as a knight of Catarina, I've an intuition as sharp as a razor's edge. My intuition tells me that my destiny lies within this gate, so I cannot let it out of my sight." He answered quite seriously. "You see, if the gate opens and I'm not here, then what?" He asked, turning to the Pilgrim.

"Yes, what then?" The Pilgrim responded with mock enthusiasm.

"An opportunity missed! So you see, I must wait. And so, here I sit, in quite a pickle. Weighing my options so to speak. Hah hah hah!" He said dramatically.

"Of course... If you'll excuse me, I believe Andre may have finished with my weapons by now." The Pilgrim said, bowing slightly and backing away.

"Indeed. Good luck on your journey, and should you need the services of a knight of Catarina, you know where I'll be. Unless of course this gate opens." The knight responded, turning to view the gate. "Still closed, still closed. Mmmm..." He sighed, folding his arms and staring off into the distance.

The Pilgrim shook his head as he walked away. The knight seemed nice, a bit scattered, but nice enough. He headed back down to the forge to find Andre finishing with the blades.

"That was fast." The Pilgrim said with surprise.

"Aye, the same could be said for you. Sir Onion chase you away so quickly?" Andre replied, dipping the black knight's sword in water and cooling the heated blade,

"He is certainly an interesting man, if a bit delusional."

"A damn fool, more likely to get himself killed doing his 'knightly duty' than help anyone. He'll die in this land, and not a soul who loves him will be around I'd wager." Andre said without emotion, handing the Pilgrim his weapons.

"That's a bit harsh, wouldn't you say?" The Pilgrim replied, glaring at the smith.

"No, just the truth. This is a cruel land, filled with hatred and despair. Most stories that begin here do not have happy endings."

The Pilgrim broke his gaze, unable to argue the truth of the smith's words. He himself had survived mostly through blind luck so far, and he'd already died once himself. He retrieved his gear from Andre, storing the knight's sword and belting the longsword to himself. Andre had adjusted the sheathe, and it fit snugly within now. The blade itself was much the same, though sharpened. Chips and dings had been removed, and it even had the faintest glimmer to its metal now.

Impressed, the Pilgrim sheathed the weapon to find Andre holding a shield out to him.

"Here, take this as well. I can tell your left arm favors a shield, could see it in the way you moved in that fight. Half price, it isn't the prettiest, though if you buy some Titanite from me or bring your own I could improve it for you."

The Pilgrim gladly accepted the gift. The shield was scarred and worn, with a hand painted symbol resembling snakes weaving around a staff, but it was sturdy and had a good weight. "My thanks, Andre. It is greatly appreciated."

"Bah, I do it for my own benefit as much as yours. If you don't live to return and buy more goods, what use is that to me?" The smith said dismissively, extending his hand to the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim grasped his hand and felt a large amount of souls leave him. "As you say." He said, shaking his hand.

"Well, I'll be seeing you then. Be careful out there." Andre said, returning to work on the pile of unfinished weapons next to him.

The Pilgrim nodded, heading back up the stairs. He stopped at the bonfire and attempted to strengthen his soul once more, but found he could not. The strength of the souls he had left simply wasn't enough to fortify his own. He had figured as much, and so he ascended the stairs and before long the parish was in sight once more.

The hollows had cleared the area, he could no longer see the knights. The large doorway leading into the parish was quite a sight. It stood nearly three times the Pilgrim's height. The doorway had once contained words or symbols of some sort, but time had long since destroyed most of it. If it had been writing, it was now illegible. If it was symbols their meaning was lost.

Entering the parish brought two sensations. One of haunting beauty, the inside having survived the elements much better than the outside. Pews, though sagging and their cloth seats slightly rotten, stood in neat rows. An ornate altar housed a statue of a woman holding a child and was lined with candelabra, mysteriously lit and faintly flickering as if constantly about to go out. The building in its prime would have been a sight to see, filled with villagers from the burg in song and prayer to the gods of Anor Londo.

The second was combat readiness. Three of the knights he'd encountered earlier were facing down a single massive one. The large knight wore heavy steel armor and carried a large mace and tower shield. It was quite plain, sporting no design or notable features besides the massive size of it and presumably the man within. Slight rusting made the Pilgrim wonder if it was a statue until he spoke. "Begone, Balder hollows. You'll not lay hand upon my ward."

"Need... Soul... Humanity... Berenike has failed... Balder shall succeed... ring bell..." The leader of the three knights said, standing forward.

The larger knight slammed his shield down, silencing the knight. "No! My superiors venture toward the city of the gods even now. The Chosen Undead walks amongst the ranks of Berenike, not Balder."

The Balder knights attacked without warning, but the Berenike knight was ready. Pulling his shield in front of him, the three knights' attacks were harmlessly deflected. His mace however was much more deadly when it struck the knights. With one horizontal sweep, two of the knights tumbled lifelessly away. The last managed to dodge the blow, but was immediately felled by a followup with the tower shield.

The knight turned toward the Pilgrim next. For all his intelligence, the unmistakable eyes of a hollow blazed behind his helmet. "You, begone! You shall not lay hand upon my ward."

"I've no interest in your ward. I only seek to reach the bell above." The Pilgrim said, drawing his sword.

"You lie! My lord has already rung the bells and even now journeys through the fortress. You seek the soul of the woman I guard, the firekeeper. Now leave at once!" The knight demanded, taking his mace up in a battle stance.

The Pilgrim glanced where the knight had been standing, near the altar. Sure enough a corpse lay upon the ground, a woman long dead. "Your ward has passed on. You have no purpose here anymore."

"She attempted to escape, I had no choice. I was ordered to stay here and guard her until my master returned. I will uphold the task handed to me by my lord master. Final warning, leave now stranger or face me."

"Your sanity is no longer intact, but your honor and devotion are. I'd commend you if I believed you were still capable of understanding it. If you won't let me pass, I'm afraid we have only one option left."

The knight advanced, swinging his mace. The Pilgrim was much

more agile than the hollow, and retreated to the small courtyard outside. He'd have to get behind the knight, that shield prevented any frontal attacks and the courtyard would give him space to maneuver.

For a moment, the Pilgrim wondered if the knight would give chase, but the knight charged out the door claiming the Pilgrim couldn't flee. Fleeing was not his intention of course, and he stood his ground waiting for the massive knight to reach him.

The knight swung his mace overhead, crashing it into the masonry where the Pilgrim had just been standing. The Pilgrim protected his eyes with his shield as debris sprayed from the mace's point of impact. He rushed forward past the recovering knight and attempted to stab the hollow in the back, but his blade stabbed only the tower shield, which the knight was quick to position defensively. Quick as he was with the shield however, the mace was always slow to follow and the Pilgrim had little trouble dodging it.

The Pilgrim decided to wait for an opportunity to attack, rather than actively try to get around the knight. The moment didn't take long to arrive. The knight swung his mace once more, extending his arm just slightly too far. The Pilgrim avoided the blow and closed the distance to the knight, slashing at his fingers. The knight was slow to retract his hand and the Pilgrim successfully landed a blow.

The knight swept his shield forward, nearly bowling the Pilgrim over, and hopped back. He was much less reckless in his attack after this, circling with the Pilgrim for a while. The Pilgrim determined he'd need to move first. He feinted and the knight took the bait, sweeping his mace at the Pilgrim. The Pilgrim ducked underneath the weapon and lurched forward, positioning himself between the knight and his shield.

The knight was caught momentarily unaware, and the Pilgrim hacked at the heavy armor he wore. Three blows, the third drawing blood and a shout from the knight, were landed before the knight regained himself. The Pilgrim attempted to fall back, but the knight dropped his mace and cuffed the Pilgrim square across the head with his fist. Stars exploded in his vision, and he felt rather than saw the knight's shield crash into him and send him sprawling.  
>He stood as quickly as he could, shaking his head to clear his vision, and saw the knight had abandoned his mace and was uncorking an estus flask. Acting quickly, he rushed forward and leapt at the knight, driving his blade between his helm and breastplate. The knight writhed momentarily before falling heavily to the ground, the Pilgrim clinging grimly to his blade all the while. The knight whispered something as he breathed his last, but the Pilgrim couldn't make it out. It sounded like an apology to someone, he thought he heard a name. Marcus, Barthas? His body dispersed in a cloud of light and all that remained of him was a small satchel he'd been carrying. The Pilgrim opened it to find several pieces of Titanite, which he gladly stored within the Darksign.<p>

His deed finished, the Pilgrim walked back into the cathedral. He headed back to the area that the knight had been guarding. The woman whom the knight had been tasked to defend, met with an unfortunate end. The knight had said something about her soul. Moving closer, the Pilgrim could certainly feel a strong presence from her. He walked over to the body, and passed his hand over it.

Though she must have been long dead, she gave off a surprising amount of warmth. As he moved his hand, a white light began to coalesce around it, intensifying the warmth. A moment later, the light began to pool toward the palm of his hand. He flipped his hand to make a cup with his palm and the light formed into a ball before becoming semi solid. The candles flickered out as it did so, and a feeling of relief washed over the Pilgrim. Suddenly, a tendril of the light began moving away from the core of the soul. The Pilgrim watched in awe as the tendril reached out a ways, before slowly being drawn back in. It was followed shortly by another tendril, and another and another until numerous tendrils appeared at once.

The Pilgrim moved his other hand toward the tendrils, only to have them quickly retreat to the core as it drew near. Perplexed, he stored the soul within the Darksign. Something that sounded like chanting behind him made him turn around, just in time to receive a blast of energy to the chest. He raised his shield with a grunt of pain, moving quickly behind a pillar for cover.

Laughter, hideously empty and devoid of emotion, came from the direction of the ceiling. "You remained conscious? Pity... Much easier to transport when they're unconscious." A voice followed, a sound like metal scraping against ice.

The Pilgrim took a healing breath of estus, chancing a glance around the pillar. A man in glittering robes and holding a golden trident in one hand like a staff stood on a balcony overlooking the room, spotting the Pilgrim and beginning his incantation once more. The Pilgrim ducked behind the pillar just before the energy missile collided with it, sending a spray of debris from the point of impact. Peeking out again, he saw a hallway to the right of the mage. There must be a staircase below it.

Taking a deep breath, the Pilgrim broke cover and sprinted in the direction of the hallway. Sure enough, next to a strange couple of doorways with platforms and chains on the inside, a stairway led up. He hurried up the stairs as another missile struck the wall just in front of him. Continuing on, he saw a Balder knight standing at the top of the stairs.

"You... Humanity..." It growled, drawing a blade and advancing.

The Pilgrim bent low and set his shoulder into the knight's legs as they met on the staircase. The knight yelped with surprise and the Pilgrim felt an impact on his back as the sword grazed his armor right where the hole from the black knight's sword had been. Silently thanking Andre, the Pilgrim heaved with all his might and sent the knight into open air over the stairs. The knight didn't fall far, but he landed on his head with a popping noise. Souls flooding into the Pilgrim confirmed the knight's fate, and he carried on toward the mage.

Looking through a window in the upper hallway, he saw the mage dancing with the trident held over his head. Odd... The Pilgrim continued into the balcony room and the mage stopped dancing, pointing his trident at the Pilgrim. "You're not... hmm. I've miscalculated... Attack!" He shouted.

The Pilgrim readied himself to charge the mage when he saw a flood of ragged hollows come from several side rooms, all of them glowing an ominous blue color. The Pilgrim flicked his gaze back to the mage, hesitating a moment before falling back to the hallway. The hall would offer him a point to funnel the hollows, and though he'd been able to outrun the last group of hollows, this time they stood directly in his way.

He stood in the hallway, shield held high and blade at ready. The first few hollows reached the doorway, leaping at him with monstrous growls. He succeeded in blocking their broken weapons, but the strength behind their blows was incredible, almost sending him to the ground. It had to be the mage's magic. He held fast however, managing to stop them. They flailed haphazardly with their weapons, seeking to down the Pilgrim with their blind fury, but he waited patiently for an opening and slew them quickly and efficiently. As they died, the blue glow faded. The main body of hollows flowed into the hallway, a cacophonous blend of shouting and growling.

The Pilgrim held his ground, blocking as many of the hollows as he could and striking when an opportunity presented itself. He was forced back in the hallway several times, until his back was literally to the wall. He took several wounds, and with no time to heal they quickly became life threatening. Just as he thought he would succumb to the hollow's numbers however, he struck down the final one. He pulled the estus flask out as quickly as possible, but just before he could uncork it he heard the mage chanting once more. He raised his shield just in time to block the magic, although much of the force behind it seemed to pass straight through into his arm and chest.

He doubled back, heading down the stairs once more. As he descended, he took a draught of estus and instantly felt much better, but still had a few lesser wounds. Taking a deep breath, he went back up the stairs to find the mage waiting for him. A missile flew toward him, but he was ready. He moved to the side, but the missile curved slightly in the air nearly hitting his arm. Now aware of the missiles' homing capabilities, he pressed onward. The mage had time to fire one more missile before the Pilgrim was upon him. The Pilgrim rolled underneath the magical bolt, causing it to arc into the floor behind him. He came out of the roll with an upward swing of his blade, which the mage barely managed to block with his trident, putting a large nick in the side of the shaft.

The Pilgrim lashed out with his foot, knocking the mage off balance. His body was surprisingly sturdy, as if made of stone or iron. Pressing his advantage, the Pilgrim swung his blade into the mage's side. The blade dug deep, but not deep enough. The Pilgrim could see the source of the mage's sturdiness, his skin seemed to be made of some king of crystal. Blood spilled from the wound, but the mage didn't flinch. He swung the trident at the Pilgrim and the shaft of the weapon collided with his helmet, sending him sprawling. He got to his feet just in time to dodge another bolt. The mage stared the Pilgrim down for a moment, knowing that if he tried to sling another bolt of magic the Pilgrim would close in and finish him.

"My death will mean nothing. You cannot stop my lord's plans. He will be most displeased and you shall find no escape from his wrath!" The mage hissed as he stabbed at the Pilgrim.

"I don't even know who your lord is, but if he uses people like you to achieve his goals I'm sure this outcome was inevitable." The Pilgrim retorted, dodging the trident and finishing the mage with another swing of his sword.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, the Pilgrim took a seat upon the floor. He picked up the mage's trident, swinging it around a bit. It was ungainly, and the Pilgrim vastly preferred his own sword. He stored it within the Darksign just in case he had need of it. He stood back up and proceeded into the next room.

Several ladders in this room led up toward the roof of the building. The Pilgrim climbed them swiftly, eager to reach the first bell. He stopped at the top of the last ladder. A doorway of fog stood between him and the roof, but what caught his eye was the strange golden writing upon the floor. He walked over to it and knelt down to inspect it. The writing wasn't physical at all, actually seeming to be some form of light in the shape of writing. Putting his hand in the light produced a spectral image of a familiar suit of armor.

He pulled out the stone that Solaire had given him, seeing that it was glowing gently. He thought for a moment. "He never told me how to use this..." He remembered absently. On a whim he pressed the stone to the writing, and it flared with golden light for a moment, which pooled into a circle on the ground. Dropping it and shielding his eyes, the Pilgrim opened them again he saw Solaire, bathed in an orange glow, rising from the pool of light with the white stone in hand.

The knight rose fully, extending his arms into a V shape pointing toward the ceiling. "Praise the sun!" He exclaimed triumphantly, before looking down to see the Pilgrim. "Well, hello again my friend! I am pleased to see you safe after all this time." He said when he saw the Pilgrim, extending his hand. The orange light did not fade.

"Indeed, it hasn't been that long though. I only just spoke to you this morning." The Pilgrim responded warmly, shaking the knight's hand and retrieving his stone.

"For you perhaps, for me it has been weeks since our initial meeting. I have placed my sign here to lend my aid to those who would cross the roof and attempt to ring the bell."

"The roof didn't seem all that treacherous to my eyes. There was not a hollow in sight upon it."

Solaire shook his head, clapping the Pilgrim on the shoulder. "Hollows are certainly not the worst of our foes here in Lordran, as I'm sure you've seen. Come, let us venture forth. Jolly cooperation awaits!"

The Pilgrim chuckled as Solaire pointed toward the door, and he walked through the fog. The roof of the building was quite wide, and the bell tower was only a stone's throw away. Solaire followed through the gate a moment after the Pilgrim. The fog did not fade, and the Pilgrim hoped this wasn't like the bull demon. The Pilgrim peered off the side of the building. It was quite a long way to the ground, almost certainly fatal. Fortunately nothing on the roof appeared threatening, save perhaps a few loose tiles.

"You see? Nothing to fear, the mage was almost certainly guarding the bell from any intruders. Or perhaps the giant knight?" The Pilgrim said, turning to Solaire.

"I don't really understand what you mean, friend. I met no giant knights or mages, but something feels wrong. I was rather hoping for a rousing battle to test our mettle!" Solaire replied glumly.

"I think I've had my mettle tested enough since I've arrived..." The Pilgrim responded, turning toward the bell tower once more. As he did, he swore he saw one of the gargoyles shift. That couldn't be, but then it shifted again. Stone crumbled as the gargoyle slowly turned its head. It flapped its wings and roared aloud before breaking away from the wall entirely. It flew down to the roof landing heavily and brandishing its giant halberd.

"Haha! A foe appears! Let us join together in battle, my friend!" Solaire exclaimed, drawing his sword and shield and rushing toward the gargoyle.

The Pilgrim couldn't help smiling at Solaire's enthusiasm, despite the situation. Following Solaire's lead, the Pilgrim darted toward the gargoyle's right side as Solaire went left. The gargoyle swung the halberd in a mighty arc, but the Pilgrim dodged underneath the cumbersome weapon. Solaire was not as agile. The shaft of the halberd struck him full in the side, and he fell heavily to the ground.

"Solaire!" The Pilgrim cried out, lashing out at the gargoyle with his sword. Though the gargoyle moved as if made of flesh, its skin was still definitely made of stone. The blade clashed against it and sparked, laving only a small nick in its skin. It roared in outrage and flapped its wings, lifting off the roof and landing a few yards away. It bent down and unleashed a gout of flame from its mouth.

The Pilgrim backpedalled just out of range of the flames, quickly looking to where Solaire had fallen. There was no sign of the knight. The gargoyle stalked toward the Pilgrim, whipping its tail angrily. The Pilgrim crouched down, ready to dodge. The gargoyle stumbled strangely, screeching and turning as quickly as it could. It swung the halberd behind it as well.

The Pilgrim noticed a large gash on the beast's back, and spied Solaire raising his shield and blocking the full brunt of the gargoyle's halberd. The spectacle was truly a sight to behold. The much larger weapon collided with Solaire's shield and bounced off without leaving so much as a dent. Solaire, seemingly unperturbed, swung again at the gargoyle, but it leapt out of range. This put it directly in range of the Pilgrim again, and he took advantage of it. He dodged past the lashing tail, and drove his blade into the soft flesh underneath the gargoyle's stone skin.

The beast lurched forward, clawing at the Pilgrim and knocking him down. The gargoyle flew overhead, spewing flame directly on top of the Pilgrim as it did. The heat was instense, and the Pilgrim nearly passed out instantly. Searing pain exploded from every part of his body, but he felt something grab onto him and drag him out of the flames. Something was taken from his belt, and put into his mouth. A breath later he regained focus, seeing the gargoyle bearing toward them.

"On your feet, we need to move." Solaire commanded, hauling the Pilgrim to his feet. The halberd smashed into the roof between them as they scrambled out of its path. "Keep it busy!" Solaire shouted, tossing the flask back to the Pilgrim and running around behind the gargoyle.

The gargoyle turned to attack Solaire as he ran past, but the Pilgrim drew its attention by banging his sword against his shield. "Over here!" He shouted, retreating and drawing it away from Solaire. The gargoyle attacked with the halberd, which the Pilgrim dodged. Then the gargoyle stabbed forward with its tail, and hit the Pilgrim in the side. The blade on the end of the gargoyle's tail sliced through armor and flesh with equal ease, and the Pilgrim fell to his knees. Looking up, he saw Solaire holding a literal lightning bolt.

The gargoyle raised the halberd to finish him when suddenly it jerked and dropped the weapon. Electricity ran through its body and it fell forward stunned, barely missing the Pilgrim.

"The light of the Sun provides warmth and life to its allies, but its enemies shall know its blinding fury!" Solaire shouted triumphantly. The Pilgrim healed his injuries with the flask as the gargoyle began to rise, grabbing its weapon and standing between the two warriors.

"You're outmatched beast! You stand against two peerless warriors, and you are but one demon." Solaire proclaimed, shortly before another smaller gargoyle, having broken away from the building and flown down while the two were distracted with its ally, slammed the flat of its halberd into his back.

Solaire flew several feet, before landing into a roll. The first gargoyle only barely missed impaling him to the roof, and Solaire stood up and ran over to the Pilgrim. "That simply wasn't sporting..." He said as he arrived, turning to face the advancing gargoyles with the Pilgrim.

A smile touched at the Pilgrim's lips, but he remained focused on the task at hand. "Does nothing give you pause? Those things landed two direct hits on you. You are truly a fearsome warrior."

"I am simply a Warrior of Sunlight. I do what I must to help those in need. Nothing less, nothing more." He replied.

"Got anymore lightning bolts to throw?" The Pilgrim asked, edging back toward the door they'd come out of.

"I could, but it takes some time to recite the incantation. You'll have to distract them again, and the last time you almost died. I couldn't do that to you again." Solaire replied solemnly.

"I can handle myself, that was simply carelessness. Just make sure you make your shot count." The Pilgrim said dismissively, sprinting toward the ever advancing beasts.

Two gargoyles was a mixed blessing. As big as they were it was difficult for both of them to maneuver on the roof, much less swing their large weapons. However, they would probably use their tails and fire more often than not in that case. While he was still ahead of them, they both swung their halberds in downward strikes. The Pilgrim had expected this, and slowed his pace so as to avoid them before returning to a run and moving past them.

The larger gargoyle swiped at the Pilgrim with its tail as he ran past, missing and instead hitting the smaller one. It shrieked in pain, hissing at its ally before they both turned toward the man behind them. The Pilgrim noted that the smaller gargoyle had only a stump where its tail once was. Finally a break! The Pilgrim took a deep breath, gathering himself before the onslaught. The smaller gargoyle let loose a stream of fire as the larger one fanned the flames with its wings. The Pilgrim was ready this time, rushing back toward the bell tower and avoiding the inferno. The gargoyles continued their assault, extending the trail of flame. The fires burned out rather quickly, but they still presented a problem. The Pilgrim had no way to fight back and the wall was fast approaching.

Rather than let them drive him to the wall, the Pilgrim rolled into the flames. He felt the heat all around him, but focused solely on standing and getting through the fire as quickly as possible. He suffered only a few minor burns before clearing the flames and meeting the waiting gargoyles.

The larger gargoyle whipped its tail at him, but the Pilgrim managed to avoid it. Getting in close to the two of them, the Pilgrim began stabbing and slashing at the two of them. His blade barely scratched the larger gargoyle, but the smaller one's skin crumbled with every blow, blood trickling from every wound. He surmised it must have been older, hence the damage to its tail and brittle skin. The gargoyles were hesitant at first, but they quickly began stomping and clawing at the Pilgrim. With foes on both sides, the Pilgrim knew he couldn't hold out long. He glanced over to see what was taking Solaire and saw him standing with bolt in hand, just waiting.

"What are you waiting for?' The Pilgrim shouted, just before one of the gargoyles swiped him with its claws. The blow knocked him flat, rending his armor once more. The smaller gargoyle stepped back to allow the larger one to land the final blow.

"That!" Solaire replied, tossing the bolt with deadly accuracy.

The gargoyle reeled as the bolt struck it in the throat, spinning and allowing the Pilgrim to see the wound the first bolt had left. All the stone that had covered the area had been blasted away, leaving the soft flesh underneath exposed. The smaller gargoyle was slow to react, but the Pilgrim was not. He sprung to his feet and used the last of his estus. He jumped up and plunged his blade into the larger gargoyle's back. It wrenched and shrieked, lashing wildly at the Pilgrim with its tail and hitting itself more often than not.

Suddenly it reached back and grabbed him, pulling him off. The Pilgrim's arms were still free however, and he managed to keep hold of his sword. The gargoyle drew him before its face, flames sparking in its mouth. The Pilgrim's eyes widened and before the gargoyle could let loose the flame, the Pilgrim plunged his sword into the wound in its neck. Flames spilled onto its chest and it dropped him, coughing several times before collapsing onto the roof.

The smaller gargoyle bellowed with rage, swinging wildly with its halberd. The Pilgrim had no chance to dodge, he landed on the ground as the halberd hit him. The weapon sliced deeply into his stomach, the armor did absorb a great deal of the blow however. He fell to the ground, holding his stomach and watching the halberd rise for another blow. It descended and stopped just above him as Solaire blocked the weapon, and fought the gargoyle off.

The weaker gargoyle was no match for the battle hardened warrior and soon fell before him. As it died, both gargoyles crumbled into dust and a green glow came out of them. Souls flooded into the Pilgrim and he sat up to find Solaire extending a hand to him. "Fine work, friend! A rousing battle!" He said happily.

The Pilgrim took his hand and was hauled to his feet. He grimaced and swayed. "That was some fantastic work you did, inspiring really. The Lord of Sunlight himself couldn't have done better."

"I'm sure Lord Gwyn wouldn't have ended this battle with such a grievous wound..." The Pilgrim said weakly.

"Yes, about that. I've some things to give you. First, this." Solaire replied, digging a medallion out of his pack and tossing it to the Pilgrim.

"Thanks, but how does this help?" The Pilgrim asked with some annoyance.

"That is a symbol of my faith, a Sunlight Medallion. Only those truly worthy of being a warrior of sunlight are given them. It will not help you at all with your wound, but have pride in earning one."

"But you said..." The Pilgrim began to protest.

"So I did, and that's what this is for." Solaire interrupted, pulling one of the small black sprites from his pack and handing it to him.

"Humanity? How will this help? I'm not hollow yet."

"Humanity has far more uses than just restoring human form. It is one of the sources of the essence of life, estus. To the living, estus burns. To the undead, estus is a miraculous gift, that makes this curse into a boon for those with the willpower to use it. Getting estus from a source is a much stronger effect than a flask."

The Pilgrim burst the sprite, and the pain instantly subsided. He could feel the humanity within himself now, warmth emanating from the core of his body. He'd usually used it as soon as he'd found it, but he had to admit he liked the feeling. He stored the medallion within the Darksign, and Solaire visibly jumped.

"You just... I haven't seen anything like that since he disappeared..." Solaire mumbled.

"Who?" The Pilgrim asked.

"I've honestly never known his name, he was a furtive man. Never giving the same name twice, and always leaving you with more questions than answers. I learned some very interesting secrets from him, however. Such as the one you've just demonstrated." Solaire answered after some thought. "Do you trust me?" He asked suddenly.

The Pilgrim was caught off guard by the question. "I suppose so, why?"

"Store your blade within the Darksign for a moment."

The Pilgrim did as Solaire asked. "Now recall it and hand it to me please." Again, the Pilgrim acquiesced. "My thanks. Now, watch this!" Solaire said, turning and hurling the sword off the top of the cathedral toward the drop into the forest.

"Why?!" The Pilgrim shouted as the sword spiraled into the chasm.

"To enlighten you. Return the sword to the Darksign." Solaire said simply.

"But it's not in my hand. How am I to do that?" The Pilgrim said with a sigh. Solaire had unorthodox teaching methods, but his knowledge always proved useful.

"The same way you always have, envision it merging with your soul once more. Once you've done that, recall the blade to your hand."

The Pilgrim hadn't ever actually done that, but he played along anyway. He brought an image of the sword into his head, enveloped in flames. Feeling no different, he willed the blade to his hand. It appeared in the usual flash of flame, much to his surprise.

Solaire beamed with happiness. "Well done, I wasn't certain you'd get it on your first try."

"And so you threw my only weapon off a cliff?"

"Er... Yes, well. We entail great risk every moment we are in this land, so..." Solaire stammered.

"Oh come off it, you hadn't thought it through." The Pilgrim said with a laugh. "What is this skill anyway? Is it common? The blacksmith hadn't ever seen its like."

"Certainly not, it is incredibly uncommon. It is called soul imprinting. Legends say the gods are capable of such feats, and they gave the ability to favored subjects and those few passed it on to descendants. It was assumed lost when the curse of the undead came to rise. Clerics see it as a sign of divine favor, although I imagine they would proclaim it heresy or deceit if a simple adventurer were seen making use of it. I'd refrain from using it as freely as you do. Feel free to use it on your own though, no hollow will care enough to condemn you. Ha ha ha!" Solaire explained.

Suddenly Solaire began to shimmer, the orange glow around him beginning to slowly dissipate. "Oh, it appears my time is up. I'll be seeing you."

"What's happening to you?" The Pilgrim asked, slightly concerned.

"The energy used to bind me to your time is dissipating. Fighting demons such as those will certainly drain it quickly, under normal circumstances I could stay almost indefinitely. Until next time friend, may the Sun shine brightly upon you always!" He answered, fading slowly until he'd disappeared entirely.

The Pilgrim sheathed his sword, eager to continue onto the bell. He ran toward the tower, wary of the remaining gargoyles. They seemed to be mere statues however, and gave him no trouble. Entering the bell tower, he turned and ascended the ladder up to the next floor. A platform led outside to another ladder, which he climbed as well. As he climbed he could see the top of the fortress that Siegmeyer had been sitting outside of. A large statue stood on a platform, surrounded by nothing but open air and a path that connected to the fortress. The walls of Anor Londo were close enough to the platform that one could easily fire an arrow over them, although no entrance to the fabled city presented itself.

The ladder ended just beneath the bell. A small, simple platform held a lever and the ancient bell hung only a few meters above it. The Pilgrim hesitated, this close to the bell, he'd be almost deafened by the clashing metal. His hesitation was momentary however, he'd waited too long for this. Walking up to the lever, he grabbed the handle and hauled back.

A mechanical click followed by the sounds of machinery preceded the clear ring of the first bell. Ancient though it was, its tone was loud and crystal clear. From his vantage atop the tower, the Pilgrim had a fantastic view of the cathedral and the burg. All his trials and setbacks laid out before him like a map, but he'd conquered it all. Pride welled up inside of him, and the ringing of the bell was joined by his own triumphant cry.


End file.
